The High Road
by Sparrrrrrrks
Summary: Sequel to My Mind Is My Own. AU, Slytherin focus. With Voldemort back in power Daniel Livingstone's life as an alleged Muggleborn in Slytherin takes several turns for the more-complicated. *on indefinite hiatus due to thesis and lack of inspiration*
1. Prologue

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Snape dreamed of Lily on his first night's sleep after the battle at the Ministry. It wasn't a … _pleasant_ dream, as they had been through his teenage years. Nor was it the kind of nightmare that had disturbed his sleep consistently for the decade following. It was something more comforting and at the same time deeply unsettling.

Lily was sitting on the grass with her feet together neatly and her hands on her knees, which were drawn nearly up to her chin. Her shoes were spattered with mud and her dress was shockingly crumpled but somehow her socks were still a crisp, clean white. Snape stared into her eyes for hours.

When he finally took a breath she looked up at him, eyes shifting from wistful to delighted in an instant. "Sev! I thought you weren't coming!"

Guilt wracked him then and he felt all of five years old, scrutinised by that brilliant gaze. Then he was sitting by her in the cool, damp shade with his hands clasped loosely together and a nervous twitch somewhere around his right ankle.

"Sorry, Lily. I had to do some things."

She huffed and poked him in the shoulder. "More important than me?"

He could never really tell when she was teasing him about that kind of thing. "Important because of you," he corrected her seriously. "I needed to make sure the world was safe."

She laughed at that, her nose crinkling. "Of course the world's safe, silly."

"You have to be careful. You have to be careful, Lily, or you get caught off guard and bad things happen."

Her smile faltered. Severus reached out to her instinctively, hesitating before he allowed himself to touch her. She glanced at his outstretched hand and lightly clasped his wrist. Her hair fell over her face as she traced a curious finger around the inside of his arm.

"What's this, Sev? Did you draw this?"

Severus looked down at his own arm, and if Lily hadn't still been holding onto it he might have flailed. He didn't have that yet. He _couldn't _have it, not with Lily so young and all his. That had come far, far later. Snape wore the Dark Mark. Not Severus.

Lily's eyes were accusing him now, and her jaw was jutting out. "You told me you'd never join him. You _promised _me."

"I didn't," he objected. "I don't know why this is here."

"Is that why you were late? You had an appointment for your _Dark Mark_?"

"No, Lily," Severus said, clasping her wrist as she had his, and using his other hand to steady himself on the ground. "I was late because I was _fighting _him, truly."

"I really want to believe you." She brushed tears from her eyes. "But you've been doing other things as well, and it's getting really hard to ignore them all!"

"Other things? I haven't been doing anything, Lily. If Potter's been telling you stories —"

"He doesn't have to tell me stories, Sev! I've got eyes and ears of my own, and even the first years know that you're an expert in Dark Arts."

"Dark Arts aren't _evil_," Severus began, but Lily wrenched her hand away from him, and with the loss of contact came a loss of consciousness so sudden and profound he thought maybe he was finally dead.

Then he felt air on his face and, a second later, a warm hand cupping his chin. "Sev," Lily said gently. "Sev, I have to go."

"Lily," he murmured, and caught her hand in his. "Truly."

"I mean it," she said, shaking his head slightly. "James is waiting outside."

"James," Severus said sleepily, opening his eyes. "James?"

"No, it's Harry," Lily told him. Snape frowned, confused, and made out her face dimly above his. "You said James," he said. "I heard you."

"No, I mean, it's _Harry_."

Severus sat up, horrified, reaching for his wand. Surely Potter couldn't be —

"Shush, silly," Lily said, patting his shoulder. "He's not staying. We can't stay any longer."

"I really did love you."

The faintest whisper. "I know."

"I can't love your son."

Even quieter. "I know, Sev."

"I'm sorry."

There was only silence.

"Lily? I'm sorry, Lily. For —"

"Never mind."

"No, I have to tell you —"

"I don't want to hear it, Sev. I can't stay any longer. We both have places to be."

"I don't."

"You do, Sev. Your _arm_."

As soon as he reached consciousness he was summoning his cloak and mask, along with his box of Floo powder. He was changed before he was properly conscious, and took merely a second to compose his mind before Flooing out of the castle and into the clutches of the Dark Lord.

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"Let's go out somewhere," Theo said, frowning as he looked from face to face around the common room. "I don't think I can spend much longer down here without going mad."

"Sure," Daniel said. "I'll just get my cloak."

He ducked downstairs and completely ignored whatever Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were doing down in the dormitory. They were talking about something but he absolutely most definitely did not care what it was. He grabbed his cloak and left without letting himself so much as face their direction.

Back up in the common room he found Theo staring down Jo Chalmers, who looked like he was trying to force his way past Theo to go to Millicent.

"If she doesn't want to talk to you, she doesn't want to talk to you," Theo said with his arms folded across his chest.

"Piss off, Nott." Millicent looked more interested in the magazine she was reading than the scene right in front of her.

"Yeah, piss off, Nott," Chalmers echoed. "Try sticking up for your own family, maybe."

"I'll stick up for whoever I damn well please," Theo said. Daniel sighed and made his way over.

"And I'll talk to whoever _I _damn well please," Chalmers said. "See this little badge? It means you do as I tell you, pipsqueak."

Theo sneered, and Daniel covered the last few feet in an ungraceful lunge. "Theo!" he said, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Ready?"

"Livingstone," Chalmers said darkly, taking a measured step back. "Just the fellow I wanted to see."

"Hi," Daniel said, but Chalmers cut him off straight away.

"Oh sorry, did I say _wanted_ to see? I do apologise, I don't know what came over me."

Daniel grabbed Theo's elbow and tugged him away, fiercely aware of all the eyes in the room fixed on them. Theo shook him off and marched through the doorway, barging straight through Rookwood and Baddock as they came in. Daniel stepped around them a bit more carefully. They didn't make it easy for him.

By the time he was out in the corridor Theo had mostly calmed down. Only a twitching at his jaw stopped Daniel from saying what was on his mind. Instead, he let himself run on automatic non-confrontational mode.

"Where do you want to go?"

Theo shrugged. "Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff?"

"Gryffindor?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "Maybe Slytherin's not _that _bad," he said with the faintest of smiles.

Daniel wasn't so sure. "Come on," he said. "We'll just go outside."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"Report," the Dark Lord commanded. "Quickly."

Snape took a quick step forward, head bowed, then raised it to meet those merciless red eyes. "My lord. Dumbledore is preoccupied with attempting to keep the Ministry in check while also containing discontent at the school. I have received no specific instructions. I anticipate more explicit direction once the students have returned home and the Ministry has returned to equilibrium."

"How have the students reacted? What number are devoted to the cause?"

"Without exposing my own loyalties I cannot determine with precision, my lord," Snape said, not letting thoughts of his house in tumult distract him. "At the very least two from each year, and likely more once they have seen the powers you command."

"You will need to convince Dumbledore to appoint you to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position," the Dark Lord commanded. "The recruitment of pureblooded wizarding youth is essential."

"My lord," Snape said, bowing his head again.

"Before your Slytherins return to their homes you must determine which are worthy of further attention. Couch your investigations as dissuasion to Dumbledore if you must, but by the beginning of the next school year there is to be a strong presence at Hogwarts. Dumbledore will try to win them back with soft words and promises of glory. They must not be won."

"Yes, my lord," Snape said, dropping to one knee. "I will begin immediately."

"You are not _dismissed_, Severus."

Snape swallowed and kept his eyes down.

"Keep a particularly close eye on the families of those captured. Ensure that they are aware the imprisonment will not be extensive, as long as my plans are fulfilled accurately."

"My lord."

"Wormtail will be staying with you over the summer," the Dark Lord announced, as though it were the least of the matters they had to discuss. "I grow weary of his presence and he needs to be observed far closer than I have time for. He will be at your disposal."

Snape allowed himself an audible exhalation. The Dark Lord knew of his hatred for Pettigrew; it was not something Snape intended to keep quiet about. "Yes, my lord."

"What will be your explanation for this meeting?"

"You required an intelligence report, and had minute instructions for my dealings with the children of Death Eaters," Snape said. There were probably tasks around his house that Pettigrew would be capable of fulfilling. He would have to arrange a room for him with appropriate wards and enchantments. And curses. "I will tell him I fear your influence over my house, and seek out meetings with those who have the potential to serve you in order to dissuade them from such a decision."

"Excellent," the Dark Lord said, the hated croon slipping into his voice. "Serve me well, Severus."

"I live to serve you, my lord," Snape said, the words coming as smoothly as ever. The Dark Lord spread a cold, long-fingered hand over the top of his skull in that twisted benediction Snape had once craved so dearly.

A sickened chill and a tremor of excitement passed through him. His stomach roiled with warped pleasure and no small measure of self-disgust. When the Dark Lord lifted his hand and stepped away from him he rose to his feet and backed out of the creature's sight. He apparated to Spinner's End and Flooed directly back in to his quarters at Hogwarts where he spent an inordinately long time staring at his own rumpled bedding.

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"And now they're tearing pieces off Simon Black, just because his fifteenth cousin or whatever it is was killed at the Ministry. Hardly his fault Black can't make up his mind what side he's on. And his brother Tasius is due to come to Hogwarts next year, the poor bastard."

Everything went very quiet, then. Everything except the sound of Daniel's heartbeat, and his repeated convulsive swallowing. He stared at Theo, then hurriedly up at the castle instead.

"What, didn't you hear?" Theo asked. "Sirius Black turned up and fought the Death Eaters at the Ministry. Bellatrix Lestrange did for him, I heard. It's not like poor old Simon could ever have met the man, but that's not going to stop anybody."

Daniel tried to find some words, or at least an expression that didn't shout 'gaping moron'. Something to stop Theo looking at him like that.

"Yeah," he managed, then stared down at the ground. He thought of the half-written letter crammed in his Herbology textbook, and the ground gave a little beneath him.

Theo was looking frankly suspicious now. He wasn't even pretending not to stare. "What's up with you?" he asked irritably. "Another mysterious illness, I suppose?"

Daniel shook his head. It was a _rumour_. "Where'd you hear that about Black?" he asked. "I'd have thought something like that would be all over the school by now."

Theo twisted his fingers together. "Lestrange has gotten in contact with some people," he said. "And you can bet the Dark Lord's happy to brag about it."

"But Black was on his side," Daniel protested weakly. "It's probably some kind of a bluff so everyone _thinks _he's dead."

Theo shrugged. "Doesn't really matter either way," he said. "Simon's still copping it."

"Hm," Daniel said, feeling a very strong urge to rush back downstairs and finish that damn letter. He should have finished it days ago, really. As soon as Sirius replied, which was usually straight away, he'd be able to hold in his hand the proof that he was _not _dead. He was cooped up away from the world, and resenting it like crazy, but staying put. That was how things were. How they were meant to be.

"Have you talked to Draco yet?" Theo asked after a long silence.

Daniel blinked at him, then shook his head. "Why would I do that?"

"To see if he'll back you next year as a pureblood."

"Oh yeah great idea," Daniel said, more harshly than he'd planned to. "Confront him about that, right now. I can see why they call you a tactical genius."

"I thought you'd want to."

"Yeah, I just love self-destruction."

"Look out, Ed's coming," Theo said, sitting up a little straighter.

Daniel looked around and groaned. "Why does he drag that Cauldwell kid around everywhere?"

"Same reason I let you follow me around, probably," Theo said breezily. "Hi Ed, Owen."

"Hi," Ed said, and Cauldwell nodded shyly at Theo. The two of them sat down.

Daniel didn't really mean to be a snide bastard, but the moment he clamped his mouth shut he started to worry about Sirius again. So he spoke. "Hi. Isn't it nice out?"

Theo glared at him, so he rolled his eyes and lay down on the cool grass.

"How are you?" Theo asked.

"Okay," Ed said unconvincingly.

"Branstone's being a real pig," Cauldwell volunteered. "She told Sprout she wouldn't come back next year if Ed was going to be here."

"Thanks, mate. I knew I could count on you to keep house business private."

"You shouldn't keep secrets from your brother."

Daniel couldn't help but let out a low hissing breath at _that_ piece of sanctimonious crap.

"I'm not keeping secrets. I'm just handling my life for myself."

"Aw, lookie who's a big boy," Daniel mumbled. "If you guys are going to be playing happy families for a while longer I might go back in."

"You're not going back in there alone," Theo said immediately. "That's madness."

"You're paranoid," Daniel said, and sat up. "Anyway, if people want to kill me I'm sure they'll have a way to get around you. Since I'm always following you around and everything."

"Fine," Theo said. "I'll come back in a bit, then."

Daniel got up and stretched. "See you," he said.

It took him all of three minutes to run down to the common room, walk through it without a care in the world and dash down the stairs to where Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were still arguing about something. He ignored them completely in favour of throwing himself onto his bed and dragging the curtains shut around him.

He stared at the scribbled letter for a moment then banished it impatiently. It was a different letter he had to write now, one without theories about McGonagall's and Sinistra's love life and if there was a way to somehow get stomach contents back when transforming back into a human without totally messing up his entire digestive system because the thought of food just after transforming always made him feel ill and he always ended up nearly fainting of hunger.

No, it wasn't going to be that kind of letter at all.

How did you write a letter asking somebody if he was dead or not?


	2. A Brave New World

**A/N: Hello everybody! Here I am, story number two (I suggest you read the first story, My Mind is My Own, before reading this), hope you've been well etc etc. I'm all done with university and NaNoWriMo for the year, so I'm going to get stuck into this one. Hopefully. I can't promise regular updates, but I do promise updates. Reviews are very much appreciated of course, and criticism more than welcome. I'm in this to improve my writing, not just to parade it about.**

**That said, the story's the important thing and I hope you'll enjoy it. I'm looking forward to writing it. Onwards!**

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"Will you, Severus, watch over my son Draco as he attempts to fulfil the Dark Lord's wishes?"

"I will."

"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"

"I will."

"And, should it prove necessary … if it seems Draco will fail … will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"

"I will."

And Snape's soul was twisted again, scarred and maimed in his service to Dumbledore. He glanced from one Black sister to the other. Bellatrix looked down at their clasped hands in mute astonishment. As soon as the Vow faded Narcissa's pale hand slipped out of his own and heaving sobs began to wrack her body.

Snape got to his feet and left her to whatever form of care she might receive from her sister. He returned to his armchair and watched as Bellatrix sat down beside her sister, patting her arm gently and frowning to herself.

He checked his security to calm his jangling nerves. Satisfied they were under no scrutiny, magical or otherwise, he got to his feet and extricated a small vial from one of the nearby cabinets. He summoned Narcissa's abandoned glass to him, refilled it and added three drops of the gleaming silver potion.

"Draught of Peace," he said, handing it to Bellatrix. She looked abashed as she held the glass to her sister's lips, urging her to drink. A preposterous, suicidal Unbreakable Vow, it seemed, was just the thing to subdue the woman. He would remember that for use in the future.

When Narcissa raised her head again the turbulent emotions were gone from her face, though there was no hiding the depth of feeling in her eyes. "Thank you, Severus," she whispered.

"It is of little matter," he said, waving a negligent hand. "It is simple enough to brew."

She got to her feet and set the glass down by her chair. "Yes, indeed," she said in a voice that seemed almost animated. "I must return to my son."

"We will not speak of this again," Snape reminded her. He turned to Bellatrix. "Nor you."

"I keep no secrets from the Dark Lord," Bellatrix insisted.

Snape inclined his head to her. "Of course."

"Come, Cissy," she said, taking her sister by the hand. "We'll leave the Dark Lord's favourite to his hovel. And his vermin."

Narcissa allowed herself to be tugged towards the door. "Thank you, Severus," she said again. "Thank you —"

Pettigrew was on the stairs again. The man must literally not be able to help himself. "You had best be off," Snape interrupted. "I need to return to my brewing."

The women ushered each other out, childish and ill at ease. Snape flung another curse at the stairway. Pettigrew was no help whatsoever when it came to assisting Snape in his duties. Snape had no need of assistance of any kind. The rat's purpose was exclusively cathartic. There were few people Snape had more cause to hate, and not many of those were so powerless when in his grasp.

The Dark Lord could be kind, in his way.

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Daniel was zonked. Rubbing his eyes didn't make it any easier to focus on the notebook resting on his pillow. Shaking his head didn't do anything to help his headache, either. Combining the two was just stupid.

He glared at the clock on his bedside table for a while. Five o'clock was way too early to go to sleep, but it wasn't like there was anything else to do. He wasn't feeling up to company. The company up for grabs wasn't up to much anyway.

He rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes. Gwion wouldn't be back until the morning at the earliest. It was hours still before sundown and he wasn't going to risk going out to practise before then.

He lay completely empty of thought until he was jolted out of the daze by the sound of the front door. Ralph came home at the exact same time every day and it drove Daniel mad. He flipped over on the bed and took a look at his notebook.

It was all so ridiculous. The ideas he had invariably had style but they all had the exact same weakness: they were utterly impossible. The nuke idea he'd crossed out early, hoping leaving it at the top of the page would remind him to be more sensible with the rest of his ideas. But it had been followed with death by Godzilla, SWAT team and carbon monoxide poisoning.

How did you kill an invincible wizard? Clearly not with magic, since the Dark Lord kicked everyone's arse when it came to that. All the ways Daniel could think of, like shooting him in the face, meant somehow getting close to him without being killed, or at the very least knowing where in the hell he was and how to get there.

If he hadn't been so bloody obstinate about standing up for Muggles and the Muggleborn it might have been easier. Snape wanted the Dark Lord dead, and the Dark Mark gave him more access than Daniel could dream of.

So why didn't he just kill him? It's not like the killing curse was an obscure spell. They'd seen it in fourth year. And maybe it wouldn't work forever if the Dark Lord was going to keep being resurrected, but it would push him back, maybe for another dozen years. That had to be worth doing.

His headache slammed back hard. For three weeks he'd been going over the same thoughts over and over, trying to find some new way to look at things. A way that would give him some hope. When that failed, as it did every day, he went out after dark and tried not to think too much about Sirius.

He was going to go mad if he spent another five minutes in his room. He hadn't showered today, or the day before for that matter, but it wasn't like he was going on a dinner date. His slight whiff would probably improve the ambience at the Hog's Head.

"I'm going to dinner," he called towards Ralph's office just before the door. "Back later."

A muffled acknowledgement came from behind the closed door and Daniel stepped out into the street.

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There was nothing in Spinner's End that merited Snape's extreme discomfort at leaving Pettigrew alone in the house. He certainly had no kind of fondness for the place, nor any secrets hidden there. The Floo connection to Hogwarts was warded by Dumbledore himself. There was no danger in leaving the man there. None at all. Snape had made sure of it.

He tossed the Floo down, disgusted with himself. "Hogwarts potions lab," he muttered. Once transported he set three small lead cauldrons out across his main bench and lit the flames with a sweep of his wand. He did not have long to brew the Dark Lord's potion, even if Bellatrix didn't tell him immediately about the Vow he had undertaken. Snape didn't fool himself he would escape punishment for that. The presentation of the potion ahead of time might placate the Dark Lord. It wouldn't stop him — nothing would _stop_ him — but it might soften his demeanour after the fact.

If Snape could somehow convince him to take it straight away, then —

Such thoughts were pointless. He knew what was likely; there was no sense in rehashing every possibility.

He _hated _Spinner's End. Every second he spent there he could feel the malice of the place seeping into him, tugging him back to places he never wanted to see again. Sometimes he woke up and he was thirteen again, counting down the days until he got to return to Hogwarts.

It was even following him to Hogwarts, now. The endless reflection, the wallowing in despair. The habit he had shaken and kept at arm's distance for over a decade.

He set to decapitating the ideisa beetles with controlled vigour. The potion was not an easy one; he could not afford to be anything other than vigilant in its brewing. The Dark Lord's refusal to let Snape handle any of his blood had forced Snape to formulate entirely new formulas for brewing a multitude of dark potions to ensure that the blood could be added last and by the Dark Lord's own hand.

Intellectually, the task had been satisfying. The brewing itself was convoluted and counterintuitive, even though the design was his own. Once the first ingredients were combined there was no room for a single stray thought. Snape gave himself over to the process gratefully.

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Daniel didn't see what the big fuss was about the Hog's Head. It had taken him a little while to get used to the smell and the grime and the windows you couldn't even see out of but that was all just bits and pieces. What mattered was that the food was dirt-cheap and nobody bothered you if you didn't want to be bothered.

And he got a little thrill every evening when he walked in, sat at the table by the cleanest window and the barman Aberforth nodded at him and he got his dinner without having to say a word. That was just damn cool. What was even cooler was the no-questions-asked Firewhiskey on tap. Not that he could afford it very often, but if he wanted it, there it was.

He hung out in the Hog's Head until nightfall, dumping a bunch of sickles on the bar on his way out. He walked through town for a while, occasionally waving to a witch or wizard he vaguely recognised. It was hard to believe Hogsmeade had ever been a novelty.

_Daniel held out his wand. _

"_Not this again," Sirius said, holding his hands up. "I don't want your bloody wand."_

"_I want to try without it," Daniel said. "I mean, if I never rely on it, then I won't ever miss it, right?"_

_Sirius huffed and shook his head. "You're thinking too far ahead. You have to try with the wand first. No question about it."_

_Daniel shook his head. "If it goes wrong, I want you to have a wand so you can deal with it. I'm not all that confident about bringing it back with me, if something goes wrong."_

"_So leave it out of your transformation completely. It's not like you're going anywhere while you're transformed. It'll be right where you left it."_

_Daniel eyed his wand thoughtfully. "True," he said._

"_Your way back. Run through it again."_

"_The body anchor," Daniel said. "Five swings, back and forth, as a test. Revertus, as hard as I can manage. Then through the set of whatever I had to run through for the outside. Once I'm me, constant vigilance."_

"_Ah, you've met Moody!" Sirius said, grinning. "What's he teaching you? Ten ways to make sure you're still you before breakfast?"_

_If only. "He's teaching us that he knows more curses than we ever will, and that he's watching us at breakfast, lunch and dinner, through every class, while we sleep, in the _bath_ for all I know —"_

_Sirius barked out a laugh, making Daniel jump and lose his train of thought. "He hasn't changed then," he said. "Some things just don't."_

"_He seriously hates Slytherin. Worse even than Snape hates Gryffindor. He wants to cast the Imperius curse on us, you know. He says it'll be educational. He's been trying to talk us into it for months."_

"_Stop dithering," Sirius said. "Go."_

Grief was supposed to get better over time. As far as Daniel was concerned, it was getting worse. All it took was coming to the old meeting place and everything flew right back over him like it had only been a Hogsmeade visit away. Strange to think it had been over a year since he'd first transformed. The days of Moody versus Snape seemed like they had been in another life. It had only been a few weeks since the end of term and he barely even remembered taking his O.W.L.s. It was all just suspended somewhere in the back of his brain, part of a world that had run out of time and slipped away, leaving him stranded nowhere in particular.

"_How am I supposed to make sense of this shit?" _he'd asked the air the very evening he heard the news._ "My first thought, the Dark Lord's back, I'll have to get Sirius to explain how things will change. I'll ask him what Slytherin's like when their side's on top, and if anyone from his time managed to stay out of trouble without turning into an utter prick. Obviously he wouldn't have had to worry about that himself, being a noble Gryffindor and all, but he'll have some advice, for sure. He's always got advice."_

_The trees rustled gently. It smelled like summer._

"_He'd at least be quick to tell me I'm a good enough kid, and that as long as I stick to what I am, I'll be fine. Which is something I could really do with hearing right about now."_

"_Or, failing that, a dirty joke about Filch and Mrs. Norris."_

_Absolutely nothing changed. For all he knew, time had stopped around him and he'd be stuck in this sickeningly pleasant summer morning forever._

"_What the fuck kind of a death is 'falling through the veil' anyway? _Laughing_? Why not go the whole hog and wear a red nose and a fucking wig? Dancing the riverdance?"_

_The wind picked up a little, then died again._

"_Yeah, well fuck you," Daniel muttered. "I told you you wouldn't be able to save Potter by sitting around and losing your touch. I fucking _told_ you. _Falling through a veil_. Fuck."_

_He swore for a while longer, until it stopped helping and started hurting. Then he caught his breath and held it, staring furiously into the forest. The more he held his breath, the more his eyes prickled and burned._

_Fuck._

_He let his breath out. Controlled. He sucked it in again, as slowly as he could, and let it out. He thought of his bed at home. The laughter of his parents. A cool breeze. The images were so vague he could barely get a grasp of them. His eyes drifted closed._

_He saw Sirius laughing that ear-splitting laugh of his, eyes crinkling up and teeth flashing. Daniel had seen it dozens of times, most often when they'd been out in Hogsmeade practising Daniel's Animagus transformation. It had taken Daniel a while to adjust after having been an animal for a while, and whenever he came back to himself he was awfully skittish, and felt small._

_Sirius had absolutely made the most of it._

_He'd probably laughed just like that fighting Lestrange. Living in the moment. Death the furthest thing from his mind._

_Even when he'd died._

_It was Dumbledore's fault, really. And Lupin's, and whoever else had supposedly been his friend back fourteen years ago. Sirius had lost touch with reality in Azkaban, and no matter how hard Daniel had tried to help him, the damage was done._

"_I hope you gave them hell," Daniel muttered, wiping at his eyes. "I'll give them hell. I will. Send them to bloody Azkaban with no trial, see how they like having their souls eaten at for twelve years."_

And then Snape had turned up, of course, and things had gotten a whole lot worse. Daniel didn't know if the man would ever look him in the eye again. He sure wasn't doing much in the way of supervision of Daniel's stay in Hogsmeade. He sure wasn't explaining a single thing. So much for the man who'd do right by him.

Daniel was sick of thinking about it. He got to his feet with sudden decision and walked around by the wilting hedge along by the gate. As soon as he was out of sight of all the buildings he transformed and bounded away. He'd remember Sirius this way.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The Dark Lord called him when he was moments away from completing the potions. He ignored his screaming Mark and monitored the bubbling liquids minutely. The instant all colour had faded and they were a deep, viscid black he killed the heat and set sealant over the rims.

He took another moment to settle his thoughts. There would be no emotional turmoil nor self-doubt. He only wished to serve his master. To leave any earlier would have been to ruin the potions. Any punishment he received he had earned by not having them prepared earlier. It was, above all, an honour to serve.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

_Daniel didn't let himself think about it any more. He found himself, and teased out the line that cut off who he was from what he was made of. _Animagus_, he thought, running the thought through his wand. _

"Animagus_._"

_As soon as he felt the liquid in his bones, his mind slipped into gear and his routine cascaded through his mind. _Complectus vestis. Animagus. Complectus ornamentus. Animagus. Susicivus externus. Animagus. Vanescus victus. Animagus. Vanescus bestius. Animagus._ He didn't say the words, but he didn't need to. They were so familiar to him already that he hardly had to think them, and he felt them running from his mind into his wand, and straight through his body._

_He was small. He could feel his heart beating twice as fast as he thought it should be. He could see too much in one go, but it wasn't making his brain hurt like it should be._

_Something scuffled on the ground near him. He leapt sideways abruptly. As soon as he landed he kept his ears twitching for any sign of further movement._

"_Daniel," a deep voice said from somewhere above him. "Change back, now."_

_That was Sirius. He tried to look up and focus, but his eyes just didn't work that way any more. He had to just sit stupidly while the legs approached, trying not to tremble at the vibrations they sent through the ground._

"_You remember," Sirius said. "The body anchor. Swing five times. Revertus."_

_Sirius knelt by him, and stroked a hand over his ears. "Body anchor."_

_Daniel steadied, and dragged himself back home, sitting on his bed, music in his ears and thumping through the floor, the smell of onion on the air._

_He tested the memory, hopping in and out until he could reach for it in an instant. _Revertus_, he thought fiercely._ Revertus, revertus, revertus.

Revertus. Revocus ornamentus. Revertus. Revocus vestis. Revertus. Revertus. Revertus.

_Sirius was patting him on the head, laughter in his eyes. "Excellent," he said. "Good boy."_

"_Get off," Daniel grumbled, pushing his hand away. "That's not funny."_

"_It's marvellous," Sirius said. "You've done it! Easy as blinking, just like I said."_

_Daniel couldn't stop his muscles from twitching. When he dragged himself up to a sitting position the world tilted and swayed enough that he felt more than a little ill. Sirius held him upright with a casual hand on his shoulder. "You're not in a hurry to go back, right?" he asked. "I wouldn't get up any time soon."_

_Daniel blinked a few times to clear his vision and peered vaguely at Sirius's face. "Huh?"_

_Sirius breathed in a little apprehensively and sat back against the wall, elbows resting on his knees. "The recovery's a little rough," he said. "I may have forgotten to mention."_

_Daniel let his breathing settle his stomach and slowly lay down on his back, watching the world spin. "I see," he said._

"_Didn't need you to be any more nervous," Sirius said. He somehow managed to _spring_ into a lying position and fling his hands behind his head. "You're bloody cautious enough as it is."_

"_I'm not cautious."_

"_It took you a year to tell me your name," Sirius pointed out wryly. "You'll only ever write to me in fake writing and in a code about three readings deep."_

_Daniel lifted a hand and poked at Sirius's head, hoping to hit his temple and not his eye. His head was too heavy to lift for a better look. "Got to keep you on the ball."_

_Sirius batted his hand away. "I'm not complaining. Just pointing out that saying you're not cautious is complete bollocks. Tentative, I'd call you. Timid."_

_Daniel wasn't in the mood to argue."How long until the hangover wears off?"_

"_A while, for you. James and Peter always had it worse than me, Peter worst of all. We're pretty sure it's the change in size that does it the worst. You get used to it."_

Daniel barely noticed the backlash any more. That was what came of practising every day, he supposed. He got better at things.

If he could just find out where the Dark Lord lived — if he was even alive — maybe he could sneak in transformed. It had gotten Sirius into Hogwarts, after all, and that was supposed to be really difficult. Impossible, nearly. He could figure out a way to include a shotgun in his transformation, nip in, blow the bastard's head into smithereens and nick off without anyone the wiser.

And if he could blast ten kinds of shit out of Bellatrix Lestrange while he was at it, well that would be just dandy.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape stared sourly at Dumbledore's right hand, covered in his expansive crimson robe. The tremors in his own hands were nearly invisible by now. His heart was still skittering at a worrying rate but if he had to drink another drop of potion he'd throw them all up on the spot. If Dumbledore was going to keep demanding he displease the Dark Lord, he would need to develop healing potions with more broad scope. They might not entirely heal his ills, but at least he wouldn't be stuck with a perfectly clear head, ample blood supply, freshly mended muscles and blinding nausea.

"If my report is satisfactory, headmaster, I would like to return to my home," he said when it was clear Dumbledore wasn't going to be speaking any time soon. "I have manifold duties to perform."

Sorrowful blue eyes met his. He hardened his heart; he had no heart. Only a stomach. "I am so very sorry, Severus, that such things must be done."

What part of _I would like to leave _did he not understand? "Yet they must," he said unsympathetically. To listen to Dumbledore, the significance of Snape's suffering was that it made the old man miserable. He wondered how long it had been since Dumbledore had suffered the Cruciatus curse. Long enough for it to be diminished to an academic concept. Too long, one might say.

"Are you certain you will not stay for supper?"

"No!" Snape snapped. The very thought set his teeth on edge. "I believe I have already mentioned my desire to return to Spinner's End as soon as possible."

Dumbledore nodded and rose to his feet. "You are always welcome here, Severus, if there is anything you wish to discuss."

"Thank you." Snape left before another word could be spoken. He stopped by two bathrooms on his way down to the dungeons. If he hadn't been so distracted he would have used the Floo. If he didn't clamp down on his rioting emotions he would become as useless as the rest of them. Anger must be controlled. Not indulged.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Someone knocked on Daniel's door way too early the next morning. It was so early in the day that there was sunlight coming in through his window. Which faced east.

"Your owls are here," Ralph called. "Thought I should let you know before I left."

Daniel rolled his face away from his pillow enough to utter some kind of a thank you, however much he wanted to throw things at his landlord. Assuming one of the owls was Gwion, he had a message from somebody else. Nothing else would have got him out of bed.

There was only one owl at the window and he didn't recognise it at all. As he slouched towards it it extended one leg towards him and hooted a little. It was carrying two envelopes, one large and one small. As soon as Daniel detached his mail the owl turned and flew straight back up to the castle without waiting for payment.

When he saw that the larger envelope bore the Hogwarts seal and the smaller one came from the Ministry he realised what Ralph had meant by owls. He opened the Ministry one first, unable to work up more than a mild curiosity about its contents.

**ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS**

Pass Grades: 

**O** Outstanding

**E ** Exceeds Expectations

**A** Acceptable

Fail Grades: 

**P** Poor

**D** Dreadful

**T** Troll

DANIEL SEAN LIVINGSTONE HAS ACHIEVED:

History: D

Astronomy: P

Charms: A

Potions: A

Muggle Studies: A

Defence Against the Dark Arts: E

Transfiguration: E

Five out of seven wasn't bad. Not bad at all considering he'd come damn close to failing fourth-year Potions and had had to put in hours and hours of study over the summer for Snape to even let him try for the O.W.L. He tossed the parchment down on the counter and picked up the Hogwarts letter.

_Mr. Livingstone_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the following N.E.W.T. classes:_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts_

_Muggle Studies_

_Transfiguration_

_Please find enclosed a list of required books and items for the coming year's enrolment. We hope you enjoy the rest of your holidays and return to school refreshed and ready on September 1._

It was signed by McGonagall and Snape. His booklist was nice and short since it only covered three subjects. Maybe he should have failed Muggle Studies as well. That would have cut down on cost.

Being up so early probably made this a good day to do whatever shopping he had to do before the hordes of other students flooded into Diagon Alley. But that meant getting in contact with a teacher and being allocated money and Flooing to London and interacting with people and stuff like that. Tiresome, impossible, energy-sapping stuff. It was a much better idea to go and lie down again. Whoever heard of being awake at eight in the morning? He was supposed to be on holiday. What better way to celebrate moderate academic achievement than complete unconsciousness?

Maybe he'd be able to stay asleep for seven weeks and by termtime his life would have sorted itself out nice and neatly. No Dark Lord, no politics, no more grief for ridiculous dead convicts. He could muddle along with his N.E.W.T.s and drive Daphne mad by pretending to go out with Astoria and terrorise the midgets new to the school.

That was what he was going to do anyway, but it would take a hell of an effort to make any of it fun.

He wandered back to his room, gave his pathetic list of ideas a disgusted look and flopped back onto his bed. Maybe when he woke up Gwion would be back with some kind of entertaining letter. It was a small enough thing to hope for, but it was something.


	3. Diagon Alley

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Pettigrew hovered at the entrance to the secret passageway with nervously twisting hands. "Yes, uh, Snape?"

Snape spared him a half-second glance precisely then returned his gaze to the third-year syllabus. "I realise your talents are limited, Pettigrew, but if you can cast a competent memory charm then I have an assignment for you."

"Wh—what assignment?"

"I am hardly going to waste my time expounding the details to you if I will be forced to undertake it myself. Have you cast memory charms?"

"Of course I have! I'm not incompetent, Snape. I've survived fifteen years undercover."

"Yes," Snape agreed blandly. "As a rodent."

Pettigrew remained in nervous silence. Snape gritted his teeth and shifted his attention to the 7th-year syllabus.

"I haven't cast many memory charms other than blanket ones," Pettigrew said. "Nothing, uh … delicate."

"Are you able at least to extract information from an unwilling target?" He looked up again to see Pettigrew shuffling his feet. It was a good thing Snape didn't truly need him for anything; the man was literally useless.

"Would you like me to rephrase the question?"

Pettigrew started and met Snape's eyes with guilty terror. "No, I … I know what you mean."

"You are here to assist me, Pettigrew, not to get flustered and avoid answering my questions. Can you extract information from an unwilling target?"

"I can do torture," Pettigrew squeaked.

Snape let an expression of amused tolerance flicker onto his face. "You can _do_ torture? Is that so?"

Pettigrew turned a dull red and straightened up a little. "I'm as much a Death Eater as you are," he declared. "I'm not a stupid little Gryffindor any more and you know it."

Snape smiled. "Hm."

"I mean it, Snape. You know what I did to Bertha Jorkins."

Snape laughed, genuinely amused. "You took Bertha Jorkins by surprise and surrendered her to the Dark Lord. You could not bring yourself to so much as threaten her until you were in the presence of our master."

Such a weakness, the Gryffindor brand of pride. Predictable, contemptible weakness. Pettigrew drew himself up to his paltry height and squared his stooped shoulders.

"I _can_ extract information from an unwilling target," he whined loudly. "I've done it before, when I hadn't yet resurrected the Dark Lord. I can do it again."

Snape sighed and made yet another note on the syllabus to remind him to emphasise emotional control in every class. Repeatedly. "You'll forgive me if I don't believe you."

Pettigrew swallowed uncertainly. This would be much easier if the Dark Lord hadn't expressly forbidden the use of Legilimency on the rat. As if Snape would be able to reverse the effects of any memory charms the Dark Lord would no doubt have used to protect his most valuable secrets.

Pettigrew appeared to have gathered whatever shreds of courage he possessed. His voice was firmer. Louder. Verging on belligerent. "A student tried to steal me from Ron's dormitory. He wouldn't tell me why. So I made him."

"A student," Snape said flatly. "A child. This is your example."

"I cast Cruciatus on a child. He screamed, Snape. He spilled all his secrets and I cast it again. I didn't leave Bertha Jorkins alone because I was _weak_. I left her alone because I didn't want to damage her when she was needed by the Dark Lord. If you need information from somebody, I can get it."

Snape didn't need Legilimency to hear the bravado in that statement but nor did he miss the sick honesty behind it.

"How did you know he told you everything?" Snape asked, business-like. "The Cruciatus curse does not encourage honesty any more than it does silence."

"I know when a thirteen-year-old boy is lying to me," Pettigrew said. "I _always_ knew."

"Entertaining though vague references to your petty childhood grievances no doubt are, I will not be sending you to interrogate any thirteen-year-old boys."

"Then give me some Veritaserum," Pettigrew said.

"You are here to assist me, Pettigrew, not to instruct me."

Pettigrew blanched. Snape hadn't even used a particularly menacing tone.

"I don't know what you want from me," Pettigrew complained. "I can get information from torture, but if you're not going to believe I can get the truth then there isn't any point in sending me."

"You are correct."

Pettigrew's eyes slid back and forth between Snape's warily.

"I am glad to hear you do not have an overly inflated idea of your usefulness to me," Snape continued. "If I need information gained from a rodent scurrying in the gutter I will summon you again."

Pettigrew didn't scuttle away immediately, though his body language suggested he would very much like to. He swayed slightly back and forwards on his heels. Working himself up to defiance: how charming.

"It was one of your Slytherins, you know," he said eventually. "Working for Sirius Black."

Snape gave him a supremely uninterested look. "I am aware," he said.

That deflated Pettigrew thoroughly. "Oh," he said.

"It was somewhat of a nuisance for you to have interfered in the matter. It took some time to find a suitable replacement."

"Oh." Pettigrew started to back away.

Snape smiled at him.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

It was early August by the time Snape finally came around and visited Hogsmeade. At nine in the morning, the bastard. First thing Daniel knew about it was a sharp knocking at his bedroom door dragging him out of a dream where he was small, quick and being harassed by an enormous black dog. The dog had been laughing at him in Sirius's voice and telling him to run faster and then screaming to stop running altogether.

Once he'd cracked open his eyes, worked out where he was and seen the time of day he was more than a little annoyed. "What?" he groaned. "Why aren't you at work?"

"You will be ready to leave the house in ten minutes," someone said. And it wasn't Ralph. "We are going to Diagon Alley."

Daniel very nearly told him to piss off. Instead he rolled out of bed and fought his way through the clothes on his floor to stare blankly into his wardrobe. Trousers. He would need trousers. And a shirt, probably. Maybe he should have a shower. It had been a while. And shaving. Shaving was good. Though stubble could be dashing.

"Livingstone." Snape sounded exhausted. Like he couldn't even get any energy into an annoyed exclamation. Daniel grabbed jeans and the least-crumpled shirt he could see.

"I'm coming," he said. "You said ten minutes."

"I will be outside."

Daniel got dressed, nearly falling over his jeans as he tried to put them on. He should probably get something to eat before he collapsed from hunger. But there wasn't time, because Snape was an arse.

He hesitated before pulling the sheet off his mirror. It had been a while since he'd gone out in proper public. The mirror was a pain, but at least it was honest. Going into London looking like a yeti wasn't on the cards.

"Oh hello, you," the mirror said. "My, you _have _let yourself go."

"Yes. Thank you." Daniel forced a smile.

"You need to give you hair a good combing, you do. And wash your face, for goodness sake. Anyone would think you —"

"Fine," Daniel said. "Thanks." He flicked the sheet up over the mirror again. He'd completely forgotten about his hair.

Ten minutes was a ridiculous limit. He could manage ten minutes at school, when he'd gotten himself organised the night before. As it was, he was barely awake.

He splashed water on his face; that would have to do. He slipped out of his room and out of the house as quickly as he could, hoping he hadn't been over ten minutes. This trip was going to suck enough that he didn't want to blow it before it even started.

Snape was standing under the oak in the front garden looking pale and tired. He glanced across at Daniel and closed his eyes. It looked like he was trying to gather strength for something. Daniel turned back to lock the door.

"Shoes, Livingstone," Snape said tightly.

"Mine are worn out," Daniel told him brightly. "I don't have the money for new ones."

He tried not to clench his jaw against the cold black stare Snape gave him. Snape may hate him now, but he was hardly going to murder him. He was his head of house. There were rules against that kind of thing.

Snape spoke again. "I assume you did not think to bring your Hogwarts letter."

"Don't need it," Daniel said. "The salespeople always know the booklists anyway. I don't need anything else."

"Besides shoes."

"I won't really need shoes until the winter," Daniel said. "And Diagon Alley isn't the only place that sells them."

Snape stopped and glared at Daniel. "In fact, all you need to purchase from London specifically are the required books."

That was what he'd just said, wasn't it? He nodded. Snape breathed out through his nose and held out his arm stiffly. "We will apparate."

Daniel laid a hand reluctantly on Snape's elbow. He could see the man's hand trembling, just the tiniest bit. He gulped and decided to quash every single impulse he had to be annoying. Books, shoes, miscellaneous stationery. Back home. Away from Snape. Easy.

The world folded in on itself and tore him away from Hogsmeade.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

They landed without issue in the alley that contained the entrance to Diagon Alley. Livingstone drew in three deep breaths and let go of Snape's arm.

"How come you never smash into people when you apparate?" he asked. "There might have been somebody standing here."

Snape pulled him out of the alcove. "That is why we do not linger," he said. "There is protocol to be observed."

Livingstone jerked himself out of Snape's grip. Snape strode past him to open the entrance. With the boy in a ratty mood to perfectly match his appearance this business had best be completed quickly. Snape's own business would not take longer than an hour, but Dumbledore's insistence that Livingstone go _shopping _with him would no doubt eat the time away.

"Ugh, it's foul here," Livingstone commented. "All muggy." He went to walk through the archway.

"Wait."

Livingstone paused with one foot still in the air. Snape spoke slowly and calmly. "I don't care what you see or hear on this trip. You will remain calm, quiet and obedient. You will cause no trouble."

Livingstone lowered his foot carefully and turned back to Snape. "What do you mean? What am I going to see?"

"I do not pretend to predict your bizarre reactions," Snape told him.

Livingstone stared over Snape's shoulder with a darkly disgruntled expression. "You don't have to bring me along at all if you don't want. I can get most of what I need in Hogsmeade. If I'm going to be so much trouble you might as well get my books yourself."

"I am not your personal assistant," Snape said. Without understanding the twisted workings of Dumbledore's mind he had no justification for Livingstone's presence on this errand. Conveniently, it seemed that Livingstone wasn't expecting to be given one anyway.

"Fine," he said, turning away slightly. "Can I go in now?"

Snape gestured expansively. A year ago Livingstone would have rolled his eyes and rushed ahead. Now the eyes narrowed to consider him for a moment before he slouched through to Diagon Alley.

Snape followed the boy the ten feet or so he'd walked before coming to a dead stop in the middle of the street. Surely Livingstone hadn't expected to see business as usual. No: he was too still to have been stricken dumb by the general appearance of the place. His gaze was much more tightly focused than that. Snape followed it to the posters covering the walls of Gable's apothecary. Bellatrix Lestrange. Mort Rookwood. Amycus and Alecto Carrow.

Before Snape could snap Livingstone out of whatever daze he was in the boy turned his head. "Books, then?" He didn't wait for an answer. He completely ignored the peddlers on either side of him in favour of picking out a clear path for his bare feet on the rough stones.

"No," Snape said. "Shoes."

The peddlers didn't bother approaching Snape.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel remembered last year's trip to Diagon Alley. It had been quiet, but nowhere near this quiet. What was weird was that last year he'd seen a grand total of four fellow Hogwarts students he'd recognised but the place was all a-bustle. Now it seemed he couldn't turn a corner or walk into a shop without coming across a schoolmate and for all that Diagon Alley was a shadow of its former self. He hadn't been able to help a disbelieving kind of a grin at the sight of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes sitting like a phoenix among the ashes, busy and bustling. He'd hidden it, though. Snape's expression had more than a hint of U-No-Poo in it.

Sirius would have loved it.

Daniel caught a glimpse of the Creevey brothers and Max Frobisher emerging carrying bags and boxes almost too big for the lot of them. As if Gryffindor kids needed more ways to cause trouble. He wondered whether the twins realised that the world was actually a bloody dangerous place now. That giving middle-year Gryffindors crates of fireworks and trick snacks could backfire on them so hard they'd see stars.

Whatever. It wasn't really his problem. He followed Snape into the bookshop and hung back while the man ordered Daniel's books and handed the pudgy bookseller a list of others to look for.

She glanced over the list. "This might take a while. Why don't you come back in an hour or so?"

Snape glared at her disagreeably. The woman, to her credit, gave him a fairly friendly smile. "Or you could wait here."

"Livingstone, you will not leave this building until I return," Snape said abruptly.

That sounded like Snape was going away and Daniel would finally get some kind of freedom. Daniel put a bit of a whinge in his voice. "For an hour?"

"I am certain you will find ample amusement. Perhaps Miss Stubbs could use your assistance in locating books as required."

It wasn't like Snape to just expect Daniel to obey him. Maybe it was some kind of trick so that if Daniel left the shop and got abducted or killed or whatever then Snape wouldn't have to put up with him any more. Reverse psychology and all that. "Yeah, whatever," he said. The perfect, all-purpose reply.

Snape nodded and swept out of the shop. The silence he left behind was more than a little uncomfortable.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name," Miss Stubbs said.

"Daniel," Daniel said. "And I'm going to see enough books to make my brain leak soon enough so if it's all the same to you I won't take up his suggestion."

She shrugged and then glanced around Daniel as the door opened behind him. Daniel turned to see a frazzled woman in very Mugglish clothing holding the door open for a girl he recognised and two boys he didn't. Jane Usher would be in her second year now and presumably the boys were her brothers. As if Hogwarts didn't have enough twins already. At least they weren't identical. In fact, they looked to be just about opposites. One had long fair hair and a fixed scowl on his face while the other had black hair spiked up in the middle and looked close to tears. Jane had already edged away to flip through a book on a nearby shelf.

"Hi," the mother said with a strained smile. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a list written on regular paper. "I'm looking for The Standard Book of Spells Grade Two, A History of Magic —"

Miss Stubbs came out from behind the counter and held her hand out for the list. "Easier this way, love," she said. "First and second year? Two copies first year?"

"Ah, no," Mrs. Usher said. "We need all of the second year books, but only one set for first year. Any than Jane can pass down we'll reuse."

Miss Stubbs frowned at the two boys. "They might be sorted into different houses," she said uncertainly.

Mrs. Usher shook her head. "Go play with your sister, boys," she said. The blond boy gave her a dirty look and vanished into the shelves. His brother followed him a little hesitantly. Daniel picked up _Wand, Broomstick and Candle _and pretended to read it, wandering over to the front window.

"Aidan isn't a wizard," Mrs. Usher said softly. "I'm a Muggle, see, and their father's long gone. The magic missed my eldest as well."

Daniel couldn't help but glance towards the conversation. Miss Stubbs saw him looking and he looked away quickly. Dean had mentioned his sister and how devastated she'd been when no Hogwarts letter came for her. But for them to be in the same year …

He looked out of the window to find a distraction and was surprised to find one straight away.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Livingstone would no doubt wander out of Stubbs's shop after a short time but Snape doubted he would wander far. He did have some sense of self-preservation both when it came to external threats and Snape's own ire. Nevertheless, Snape intended to find what he needed, buy what he needed, threaten where he needed and return as quickly as possible.

So when he saw Draco Malfoy emerging alone from Knockturn Alley it was a distraction he thoroughly did not need but could not ignore. Malfoy saw him and gave him a careless smile.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape greeted him.

The boy reluctantly walked over to present himself. "Professor Snape," he said warily.

"Draco," Snape said, re-thinking his strategy. "Where is your mother?"

Malfoy waved a hand negligently. "Oh, she's visiting Barnabas at the Prophet," he said. "I had business of my own. We're to meet at Marlon's when we're done."

He had to have slipped away from his mother without her realising; Narcissa Malfoy was far too protective of her son to let him conduct "business" on his own in Knockturn Alley. And there was little Draco could do that his mother wouldn't wholeheartedly approve of. If Draco was trying to hide his activities then they were important enough to postpone Snape's own business for the day. "Indeed."

"I'd better go on now," Malfoy said. "I shouldn't like to keep her waiting and I'm sure you have plenty to do yourself."

Snape nodded and stepped to one side. "Give Mrs. Malfoy my regards."

Malfoy nodded briskly. "Certainly." He strode off, his grey robes fluttering slightly as he walked.

In Knockturn Alley the Malfoys tended to patronise Fillimore's, The Oxbridge, Borgin & Burkes and the Silver Dragon. Snape allowed himself one aggrieved sigh and headed into the alley to investigate.

The first things he noticed were the disembodied voices making their way out of Knockturn Alley. The second things he noticed were occasional flashes of feet hurrying along the street at approximately the same location. Snape automatically fell back into one of the many secluded spots by Yarden's weaponry shop and listened.

"You could at least have checked with us. I could have told you not to say you were Malfoy's _friend_."

"We're in a hurry Ron. What if somebody's noticed we're gone?"

"Just because you got ten Os doesn't make you good at everything."

"I _know_ that. I notice you didn't have a better —"

"You didn't give us a chance to! You told us to stay put and just ran off!"

"Shut up, you two. We've got to get back."

For one day. For just one day, Snape would like to have one problem to solve and time to solve it. His vow to protect Potter wasn't strictly speaking an Unbreakable Vow, but it was unbreakable all the same. And impossible. The boy literally did not learn.

There was nothing he could do about Potter's careless attitude that would make the slightest bit of difference, but Draco's trail was still warm. Snape put on an attitude of bored diligence and walked into Fillimore's. He ignored the manifold scuttling creatures in tanks and walked to the desk where Magda Fillimore was sitting chewing on her nails and reading a black-and-white magazine. "Narcissa Malfoy is looking for her son," he said. "Has he been in here?"

"Nah. Went past little while back. Looked fine. You needing some more Rancrabs?"

"Perhaps. Not before Draco is found."

Fillimore shrugged and flipped a page. "Suit yourself. I'll still be here."

He could return if he found later she had been lying. He went on to Borgin & Burkes. He'd never liked the place but it could be an invaluable source of materials. The sign on the door proclaimed the shop closed, yet there were no spells on the door prohibiting entry. Through the dusty window Snape could see Borgin standing staring at a heavy black cabinet — a Vanishing Cabinet, from the look of it.

Snape let himself in. Borgin whirled on the spot and glared until he saw it was Snape in the doorway. Then he just smiled his obsequious smile with worry in his eyes.

"Narcissa Malfoy is looking for her son," Snape announced. "Has he been in here?"

"No, not him," Borgin said with a smart little bow. "Not for some time."

Snape considered him for a moment. "Closer to ten or fifteen minutes?"

"No, no, not for months." Borgin's face gave it away so obviously that Snape wondered how the man had ever achieved his reputation as a fast-talking salesman. Not to mention that he wouldn't meet Snape's eyes. He certainly wasn't keeping quiet about the visit from any sense of loyalty. Draco Malfoy had somehow bullied him into it.

Fortunately Snape had considerable experience in that sort of interaction. Enough that he barely had to exercise it any more. The reputation was enough.

"I am not asking you to reveal his every secret, Borgin. The boy's mother is simply concerned for his safety. Where did he go?"

Borgin pointed. Snape followed the gesture then turned back and stepped into the man's line of sight.

Draco Malfoy could adopt his father's countenance remarkably well. If Snape didn't know both of them extremely well he might almost have thought that it was Lucius staring down at Borgin with contemptuous silver eyes.

"I have located a similar model in need of some repair," Malfoy said. "There are irregularities in its function and some dangers in its use. Do you know how to fix it?"

Borgin licked his lips and shifted his feet. "Well, without seeing it I must say it will be a very difficult job. Perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

Malfoy lifted his eyebrows in amusement. "No? Perhaps this will make you more confident." He narrowed the gap between them and unbuttoned his cuff.

It was quite a good reproduction. Certainly it would fool a cursory inspection, which seemed to be all Borgin was willing to give it. Snape knew better. Malfoy had nerve, to fabricate the Dark Lord's mark.

Snape withdrew from Borgin's mind. "Your willingness to assist has been noted," he said.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The instant Daniel looked out and saw Draco talking to Tim Harper and his father about thirty feet away, Draco looked up and after a small double-take realised he was standing there. He politely excused himself from the conversation he was in and walked towards the door.

Daniel set his book down on the nearest available space and walked out before Draco could come in and find himself in a room with Muggles and Muggleborns. No point causing a scene, after all.

Draco smiled and held out his hand. Daniel scoffed a little. He didn't shake hands with his friends; that was too weird.

"Hey," he said instead. "It's like rush hour around here."

Draco put on a look of pleased sort of incomprehension. "Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

Daniel shrugged. "I've never seen so many Hogwarts students in one place at the same time."

Draco laughed.

"Outside of Hogwarts," Daniel said. "What is it, National Shopping Day or something?"

Draco looked down his nose a little. "It is the first Saturday in August. Traditional, one might say."

Daniel sighed. "Might one."

Draco just stood there and smiled. He hadn't even made any disparaging remarks about Daniel's personal hygiene: it must be a really good mood he was in.

It was putting Daniel off. By rights, Draco should at least be _pretending _to hate him. He could probably use a reminder.

Daniel dug in the pockets of his jeans for a moment. "You don't know where I can change Muggle money, do you?"

Draco gave him a look of frank disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well it's no good to me like this." Daniel waved the notes vaguely in the air. Draco pursed his lips.

"Gringotts, I should think. Anyway, act like what I'm saying is pleasant and inconsequential. Before you leave here today drop in at Gable's. Tell Gable I sent you and you'll get a small box with potion vials in it. They're for you, so don't go accusing me of using you to traffic stolen goods or any rubbish like that. When you get back to Hogsmeade take an inch of blood and put it in one of the clear vials along with something I'll be giving you before you leave. Look at it after an hour and then at school tell me the colour. Okay?"

Daniel gave him a pleasant, inconsequential smile. "Mostly no."

Draco didn't look surprised. More determined. "You can get rid of it — you should get rid of it as soon as you know the colour. It's not dangerous, honestly. It's just something I need to know."

Daniel folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not putting my blood into some unknown potion from a stranger to satisfy your curiosity, Draco."

"The potion doesn't have any effect on either of the donors. All it does is change colour. Then you can banish it and that will be that. Nothing dangerous at all."

Daniel shook his head.

"Come _on_," Draco said, leaning forward a little. He wasn't looking pleasant _or_ inconsequential. He was looking more than a little desperate. "I promise, it's harmless."

"And if it shows me for a Mudblood? Is it still harmless then?"

Draco stared at him for longer than he was comfortable with. Then he shook his head slightly and blinked firmly a few times. "You're not," he said.

"Clearly you think I might be, or you wouldn't need to test it."

"I need to be able to say there's _evidence_," Draco hissed. "It's not me that needs convincing."

"That's not what you said half a minute ago."

"Daniel," Draco said, no doubt trying for patience. "If you go back to school letting people think you don't have wizarding blood then I won't be able to do anything for you."

"Oh," Daniel said. He felt like he should be getting angry about now. He used to, whenever Draco started to think he could run his life for him. Now he just felt tired. On a normal day he'd still be in bed. "It's funny, but I don't remember mentioning needing anything from you."

He noticed Narcissa Malfoy hurrying towards them but didn't let any of it show in his face. Instead he gave Draco a false smile and watched the surprise, hurt and anger flicker across the other boy's face. They were quickly replaced by a forced serenity as he slid his hands into his pockets and stood a little straighter.

"Draco!" Mrs. Malfoy swept up to them hastily, one hand tucking some hair behind her ear. Draco wasn't surprised at all to hear her voice; he seemed to have been expecting it. She reached out and laid a hand on her son's shoulder, tension flooding out of her as she did. "Where have you been?"

"I went to take care of a couple of things," Draco said. He was affecting unconcern but Daniel could see him practically glowing at the affection he was receiving. He was _enjoying _dismissing it. Bastard.

When Mrs. Malfoy turned her attention to Daniel he was exceptionally glad he'd taken a comb to his hair while they'd waited for Gideon to search for a copy of the new Muggle Studies text. And that Snape had insisted he buy shoes. And, in a way, that he hadn't bothered to shave. She was gorgeous and he felt young.

After a moment of indecision he stuck out his hand. He'd barely met the woman really but she probably knew who he was. "Hi, Mrs. Malfoy."

The faintest of smiles touched her lips as she rested her hand in his and inclined her head. Her light blue eyes examined him more closely than he was quite comfortable with. She offered him a slightly broader smile once she was done, took her hand away and clasped both in front of her.

"I see what you mean," she said to Draco. They shared a smile that made something in Daniel's chest twinge a little. He swallowed and looked down.

"Are you here on your own, Daniel?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

"Professor Snape came with me," he said. "I'm just waiting for him to come back from some business."

"I saw Professor Snape earlier, Mother," Draco said. "He sends his regards."

"Ah." Mrs. Malfoy smiled. "Perhaps we should wait with Daniel until he returns. There are some things I would quite like to discuss with Severus. It is nearly lunchtime, is it not?"

"I think he's in a bit of a hurry," Daniel said, not worried about sounding rude. He couldn't imagine many things more unpleasant than lunch with Snape and a couple of Malfoys.

To his surprise, Draco seemed to agree. "He did seem quite busy," he told his mother. "Perhaps we should invite him for dinner one day this week instead."

"Oh, Severus is dreadful with formal invitations," Mrs. Malfoy said. She gave Daniel a weird, conspiratorial look he couldn't quite work out. "If we don't bully him into society when we get the chance I daresay he will lose what few manners he has remaining." Another friendly look Daniel's way. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was trying to soften him up for something.

Know better? What he knew was Malfoys. Of course she was softening him up for something.


	4. Malfoys

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape gave token notice to the Urquharts, McBurneys, the Greengrasses and Freelanders on his short trip back to Stubbs' shop. By a matter of moments he evaded Eric Vaisey and his mother and he actually spent ten minutes in the menagerie to avoid the Savants. That necessitated a brief interaction with the Frost clan. It was a tolerable exchange. Their youngest, Xavier, was a third year in Slytherin and showed a great deal more promise in Potions than either of his older sisters in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.

He was not one Snape intended to lose to the Dark Lord.

The girls, Emily and Valerie, were arguing about which owl they should buy now that their old one had flown away and not come back. Xavier was standing mesmerised by the vigorous movements of the plimpies in their tank. The parents were nowhere to be seen, which was all to the good. Their mother Robin had not been a friend of Snape's in school.

"Frost," he said as pleasantly as he could manage.

The boy's deep brown eyes always surprised Snape set in a pale face under light mouse-brown hair. "Professor Snape," he said. "What are you doing here?" His voice cracked and jumped dreadfully; he was at that age.

Snape ignored that pitiful excuse for a question and then could not think of a more dignified one to counter with. He tried to find a pattern in the plimpies' bursts and losses of speed. After a while Frost seemed to do the same.

It was well past time for Snape to return to Livingstone. "I will see you when school returns," he said.

Frost nodded vaguely then remembered his manners and looked up again. "Yes, sir," he said. "Enjoy your hols."

Something about the banal nature of the conversation made Snape's lips turn up slightly. The reaction was baffling, to say the least. A note of confusion touched Frost's eyes but he quickly covered it by looking around to his sisters then back at the tank.

"Indeed," Snape replied and left the shop.

Remembering himself at thirteen Snape despaired at being able to influence even one mind away from the poison of the Dark Lord without a viable alternative. He could not in good faith encourage the future of the wizarding world into Dumbledore's grasp, nor towards the mindless bureaucracy of the Ministry.

Turning the corner towards the bookshop Snape saw that Livingstone had indeed wandered out into Diagon Alley. He wasn't surprised at the company he was keeping, either. Today was clearly the day for Draco Malfoy to cause trouble for Snape. He had already involved Borgin and Potter, of course now he would complete the set and muddy the waters with Livingstone.

Livingstone was the first to see him approach. As soon as he did he stepped neatly around Narcissa, walked towards Snape and made some kind of desperate appeal with his eyes. A slight shake of the head, a crinkling of the brow. Then a nervous swallow as Malfoy stepped up beside him and greeted Snape politely and Narcissa did the same on his other side.

"Severus," she said smoothly. "Would you and Daniel care to join Draco and me for lunch? We have a reservation at Marlon's and Daniel tells us you have not made any arrangements for your own meal."

Livingstone wilted a little but didn't give off any more desperate cues. If anything he looked resigned already.

Snape was nothing of the kind. "I thank you for the invitation," he said. "However our trip is limited to the morning; I have business at Hogwarts this afternoon and must return Livingstone to his abode before then."

"Surely Dumbledore can spare you for another hour," Narcissa lilted. "You are, after all, on holiday."

"Sadly not," Snape said. "My terms of employment are not so accommodating."

Narcissa smiled. "Oh?"

A foul taste climbed up Snape's throat. He had foolishly assumed that having sworn to protect her son he would have the upper hand in their interactions. Too many made the mistake of underestimating Narcissa Malfoy, always under the shadow of her more prominent husband. Snape had managed to avoid it until now. With Lucius locked up and Narcissa in complete control of her family's influence it wasn't the best time to have made the mistake, but there was nothing for it now. Snape had made an Unbreakable Vow and Narcissa Malfoy was undoubtedly going to make the most of it.

"Mother," Draco said quietly. Narcissa glanced across at him then back at Snape.

"Severus?"

"Livingstone?"

Livingstone jolted at being addressed but stood taller. He sent a blank look over to Snape then shrugged. "I don't mind," he said. "I don't exactly have anything on."

Snape wasn't blind to the fact that Narcissa was the only person present who was eager for the event to take place. He also wasn't blind to the fact that she had power over him, Draco and quite possibly Livingstone, by now. It shouldn't hurt to find out where she was going.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Hating Malfoys was all very well as a matter of principle. The Malfoy Death Eater Family as the height of evil was such a standard belief that Daniel found himself falling into it as a matter of habit over summer. And now he was eating with two of them and feeling absolutely heartsick and exposed and chillingly jealous. Conversation was exhausting enough when it was just Ralph, or even a letter to Theo. He'd been able to handle Snape, just. Adding Draco and then his _mother_ on top of that was going to destroy him.

They'd all noticed. It would be hard not to when he couldn't bring himself to eat more than a bite of what looked like a genuinely delicious and expensive meal. A tower of orange and green that looked like some kind of vegetable thing, a soft brown crescent of what Draco had assured him was treated dragon meat. His stomach growled from the smell but the thought of _eating _it … no. Disgusting. From what he could make out while avoiding everyone's eyes Draco was concerned, Snape disapproved and Mrs. Malfoy was interested. He couldn't bring himself to care about any of it.

If he stood and ran right now he'd be able to get away. He could go and live forever in a meadow somewhere and eat grass for the rest of his life. He had his wand — what more did he need? Sirius had done it without a wand; by comparison Daniel would be living in the lap of luxury. If the prophecy was going to come true the Dark Lord could bloody well come and find _him_. He'd have to. That was how prophecy worked, apparently.

The goopy brown sauce on his fork was making his stomach clench. Snape was talking to Mrs. Malfoy about various people they both knew. Daniel picked up the names Rookwood and Calixto but didn't care enough to pay proper attention. It would have been smart to: he was going to have to deal with their kids at Hogwarts. He'd already had more than a few run-ins with Annora Calixto: she was in Astoria's year and had more offensive opinions than you could shake a stick at. Astoria's year sucked.

Something nudged his ankle. He was so out of it by then that he assumed it was Ralph's cat Ogden and nudged it away without thinking. About two seconds later he was properly kicked.

Even then it wasn't worth snapping his head up and glaring. Since when had that ever worked on Draco, anyway. He glowered mildly and glanced up. Draco's expression was schooled and polite but the slight sympathy and curiosity in it cut Daniel somewhere he didn't know existed. He swallowed something bitter and slid his eyes away. The man outside the Quidditch shop looked familiar — probably one of the long-since-graduated Slytherin boys. They'd blurred into pretty much one person in the last few years. Or maybe his brain was just shutting down.

"Are you going to eat that?" Draco asked coolly, ignoring the conversation three feet away.

Daniel shrugged and set his fork down. He leaned back, taking a long deep breath and trying to remember how manners went. "I'm not that hungry," he managed.

Draco just stared at him. If he wasn't going to be polite then maybe Daniel could show him how it was done. "How have your holidays been?" he asked courteously.

"Marvellous." Draco frowned at him, like he thought there was some kind of a punchline to come.

"How nice."

The look changed from puzzlement to suspicion. "Problem?"

The adults' conversation didn't falter. Daniel wished it would. That would be enough reason for him to keep his mouth shut. But no, they kept gabbing on about Hogwarts curriculum and liaising with Professor Slughorn and blah blah blah.

"Who's Professor Slughorn?" Daniel asked. His voice sounded brittle even to him.

Snape shot him a disapproving look and kept his mouth tightly closed.

"He was our Potions professor at school," Mrs. Malfoy said, sounding just like Draco when he slipped into soothing mode. "An odd sort of a man, but very gifted with potions."

Daniel glanced at Snape, who was looking a little sour. Maybe this Slughorn was better at potions than Snape was. Sounded like it, if Mrs. Malfoy was saying Snape should be talking to him about classes. Ha. Didn't look like that sat too well.

Draco was still frowning at him. It was getting really, really annoying.

"You'll be taking a Potions N.E.W.T., I guess," Daniel said to him.

Draco nodded.

"Draco," Mrs. Malfoy scolded mildly for no reason Daniel could see.

"Mr. Malfoy received an Outstanding on his O.W.L.," Snape provided.

"Bully for him," Daniel said.

Snape's lips tightened and his nostrils flared just a little. That was a pretty big reaction, given the company they were in. Excellent. Maybe Snape would murder him, in public and everything. Wouldn't that be fun.

Mrs. Malfoy, on the other hand, wasn't ruffled in the slightest. "What N.E.W.T.s will you be taking, Daniel?"

"Transfiguration," Daniel said. "Defence Against the Dark Arts. Muggle Studies."

Draco winced and looked away. Mrs. Malfoy became very still for a moment but then smiled coolly and nodded.

"No Charms?" Draco asked, sounding distinctly annoyed. "I thought you liked Charms."

"I do."

"And you're taking Muggle Studies instead?"

Daniel supposed he could have been flattered that Draco assumed he would have managed an Exceeds Expectations. But that just made it worse that he hadn't. "Yeah," he said. "You got a problem with that?"

"It's not much of a career move. You could go much further with Charms, I'm sure."

Daniel bit down on a huge number of sneering and offended responses. He stabbed at the little arrangement of vegetables on his plate instead. It crumpled neatly into the sauce.

Snape pushed his chair back and stood up. "It is time I returned to Hogwarts."

Daniel shoved his plate away from him. "Yeah," he said.

"We could return Daniel to Hogsmeade this afternoon if that would be convenient for you," Mrs. Malfoy offered.

"I'm going to Quality Quidditch later," Draco said. "You could come."

Daniel couldn't hold back the disbelieving laughter. He'd just about had enough of manners. "Why the f— … _hell_ would I want to do that?"

"Livingstone." That was a properly angry voice from Snape. Daniel didn't care.

"It was just an offer," Draco said thickly. "I was being polite."

Daniel tried to laugh but it came out as a kind of tragic giggle. He wouldn't cry, but he was so angry he would very much like to start screaming. "I don't want to go to the Quidditch shop," he said. His voice was high-pitched and a little desperate. There was nothing he could do about that. "I don't want to — any of it. Got that?"

"Enough." Snape grabbed his upper arm and hoisted him out of the chair. Daniel tried to shake him off but he was really properly holding on.

"Don't —" Draco said weakly. "Let him —"

"Severus," Mrs. Malfoy said. Daniel felt like punching her in the face. At least Draco had dropped his pompous act by now. "Perhaps we should let the boys sort themselves out. It does no good to let ill will linger."

Snape's grip tightened slightly as his voice grew calmer. "I have already stayed longer than I ought to," he said. "Mr. Livingstone is overtired."

What was he, six? "I'm not _overtired_," Daniel snapped. "I'm _annoyed_. There's a difference. Let _go_."

To Daniel's shock, he did. It was too risky to try moving away; Snape would probably just grab onto him again. So Daniel stood himself up and looked squarely at Draco and Mrs. Malfoy and then at Snape, making sure they all realised he was talking to _them_. "I don't know what any of you want from me. But if you think I'm just a piece to be moved around — kicked around — then think again because I don't need any single one of you. And I never will, so you can just stop factoring me into your mad schemes. Okay?"

Draco lifted his chin. "Going to Quality Quidditch is hardly a mad scheme," he said.

"Oh, forget it," Daniel said. He ducked out from beside Snape and started to walk along the street. Not trying to get away, just … being away. Breathing. Not transforming into a small furry creature and bounding away. _Not_ thinking of Sirius at about the least convenient moment ever. Thinking about serenity instead. Smiling broadly at a confused-looking woman with a red shawl.

Settling.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape had taken two steps after the boy when Draco Malfoy jumped in front of him. "I'll talk to him, sir," he said. He didn't look Snape in the eye or even wait for a response. He just hurried after Livingstone, walking with decisive long strides. Snape let him go. He had no particular wish to be entangled into Livingstone's turbulent emotional life. He was much better off sorting out some very important issues with Narcissa while they were gone. Now he was late for Dumbledore there was little he could do but find out a much information as he could.

Narcissa was still sitting at the table with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Snape walked back to sit opposite her, straightening Livingstone's chair as he did.

"That is a very lonely boy," Narcissa said softly. She stopped watching her son and fixed brilliant blue eyes on Snape. "Why are you letting him live alone?"

There was definitely danger here. Danger Snape could well do without.

"He does not live alone," he said stiffly. "He is living in Hogsmeade with a housemate and within a stone's throw of any number of witches and wizards."

"He _is_ living alone," Narcissa said. "Boys that age need company. They need motivation. A cauldron can only simmer for so long without attention."

She would not win him over with clumsy potions metaphors. There were many potions that required a full year's simmering and would corrupt if the air so much as stirred around them. Some such corruption was nigh undetectable. Though pertinent, saying as much was unlikely to help the conversation along the right path. "You do not know him," he informed her tartly. "I have been responsible for that boy for five years; I know his handling."

She leaned forward. "Are such outbursts characteristic of Mr. … Livingstone?"

Snape gave her one of his grimmest looks. "Yes," he said.

That had her a little stumped. No doubt she wanted to latch onto the boy; Draco undoubtedly had guessed at Livingstone's lineage and had shared as much with his mother. The boy's resemblance to his family was growing: it was subtle but more and more obvious to the trained eye, the Rosier on his mother's side especially. Snape had no doubt Narcissa would make every effort to narrow the field of possibilities. The Blacks were all like that: obsessed with blood and its permutations.

"He could do with spending some time with boys his own age," Narcissa said. "Draco is the same; there is rather too much tension in the established circles. It becomes difficult to relax."

"Livingstone will see any invitation to 'relax' with your family as an intrusion into his precious independence." Snape allowed himself a somewhat triumphant tone. "You heard his invective. He will relax more left to his own devices than he will in a place he needs to mind his manners and second-guess every word for hidden plots and subterfuge. For that is how he sees the society you represent."

Narcissa's face settled slowly into stone. "A little discipline goes a long way, Severus. A _very _long way. I don't think that boy has nearly enough of it."

"He is not your boy to discipline," Snape said. Then quickly, to cut off the predictable response, "Nor is he mine. He —"

"But he _is _yours," Narcissa urged. "Without parents, without any other guardians, you are his highest authority. Why do you step back from him? His position at Hogwarts is highly symbolic and has the potential to become significant. You get on with him; Draco has told me as much. Why not cement the attachment?"

Snape regarded her levelly. "There is no _attachment_," he sneered. "Your son has a habit of seeing what he wants to see. I do not use Livingstone because I cannot predict him. He has an admirable spirit but it takes form in unruliness and belligerence: you saw as much not ten minutes ago. He is not to be relied upon."

"You cannot shape him?"

"I cannot."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Draco caught up to Daniel just before he had himself sorted and effortlessly brought the anger back. "Hold up," he said. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere."

Draco weaselled his way in front of Daniel and held out a hand. Daniel decided stopping walking was better than starting a fistfight. But he didn't really have anything more to say, so he just stood there.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked.

Daniel looked around them pointedly. With the furtive way everyone was acting these days, a confrontation in the middle of the street was going to attract an _incredible _amount of attention. There was no way Draco didn't realise that. Which meant he wanted it. "You're in my way."

"Can we talk?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"I don't get why you're being like this," Draco said quietly. "Let's go into, say, the bookshop on your left, and you can tell me."

Daniel smiled. That sounded reasonable. "Or you could piss off and leave me alone."

Draco looked at him really properly. Daniel met his eyes, but he didn't like it. "Please," Draco said, and turned to walk towards the bookshop.

Draco was all Daniel had. He gritted his teeth and looked back to their restaurant. Snape and Mrs. Malfoy were talking. Snape looked a little offended but that was hardly unusual.

People were starting to stare at him, standing in the middle of the road like he was. He could probably deal with Draco better than he could with the adults. So he wandered into Obscurus Books and was waved into the back by a distracted man with a long black beard and grey robes.

It could be a trap. It wasn't like he could trust Snape or any of the Malfoys. Daniel reached for his wand for a moment before deciding he was being ridiculous. He'd been the one annoyed they'd been talking in public, after all.

Draco was up the back, sitting on a small table and frowning to himself. It didn't _look _like a pose, but then Daniel couldn't always pick them.

"Hi," Daniel said.

Draco waved his wand in a lazy loop and set it on the table beside him. "What the hell is going on with you?"

Now was as good a moment as any to make a few things very, very clear. Daniel wasn't surprised, unsettled or disturbed by the chill in his voice. He felt it down into his bones. "If you want the Dark Lord to win, if you think Muggleborn or Muggles deserve torture and death, and especially if you don't think either of those things but still support them and do as you're told like a good little boy then I don't want to hear a word from you."

"Too bad," Draco replied breezily.

"I mean it. I've had enough of looking the other way."

"It doesn't matter if you despise me. I'm still going to like you."

"That's not something to be proud of, you lunatic. It means you're insane."

Draco smiled a tight, forced smile. "The only reason I'm … factoring you into my mad schemes … is because I want you in them. I have no interest in kicking you around. I doubt that I could."

Oh wasn't that just the smoothest of all smooth things. Nice and gentle, flattering. Slick. The same way he talked to Harper when he just wanted him to _go away_. Like his mother, playing up the maternal warmth and then dropping it as soon as it started to work. Daniel might not have much of a defence against it but that didn't mean he couldn't see what was going on.

"Just give it a rest," he said wearily. "I'm not so soft I can't move against people who talk nice to me. I put Lisa in her place about Millicent, didn't I? When Frobisher was buttering me up to get the number on Pucey I set him back. And I genuinely like both of them. So just give up on it. It doesn't work."

Draco let out a frustrated breath. "I'm not playing you for anything, you idiot. Mother is, certainly; she doesn't know you."

"Don't pretend she's not doing it on your behalf. I know how you operate. Other people doing your dirty work for you."

Draco gave a short, bitter laugh. That caught Daniel's attention; it was more pained than he'd heard Draco before. "You don't know as much as you think," he said. "You think I let anybody else do the things that are most important to me? If I need something done, I do it myself. If I simply want something done, I look at other options. Why wouldn't I?"

Daniel didn't care why Draco would or wouldn't do anything. But he didn't want to go back out to face Snape and Mrs. Malfoy and the rest of the world either. So he just stood there.

"What are you so upset about?" Draco asked after a moment. "Has something happened?"

"Nothing's happened."

"Is it … do you miss your parents?"

"No. Do you miss yours?"

He'd meant to hurt Draco with that; or at least he hadn't minded so much that he would. But when Draco's concerned quizzical expression collapsed into one of hurt pride and barely-masked grief he wanted to sink through the floorboards and find oblivion. He settled for closing his eyes and resting his head back against a shelf. Maybe Draco would just go away. If he waited long enough.

Or maybe he should just man up. "I'm sorry your father's in Azkaban," he said, hardly even choking on the words. As nasty a piece of work as Lucius Malfoy was, nobody deserved Azkaban. Nobody. "I shouldn't have said that."

Draco's voice was frosty. "You'd prefer him free to carry out the Dark Lord's will?"

Daniel opened his eyes. "Don't ask me that. Just don't."

"I thought you had a privileged understanding of right and wrong," Draco said. "Surely you can tell me which is more evil."

Daniel met the cold glare head on. "Your father is a sleazy clump of shit and I'd be happy to see him hanging from his bollocks over a pit of Lethifolds. But I _hate _Azkaban." He trembled with the force of it.

Draco fixed curious silver eyes on him with equal parts offence and curiosity. "Yes, you do."

Christ. Daniel couldn't imagine what he'd feel if Sirius had been his _father_, and destroyed like that. He knew Draco loved his father. His father in Azkaban. All credit to him for being able to walk the streets without screaming and destroying things.

Draco sighed. "Okay, I'll ask. _Why _do you hate it so much?"

"None of your business."

"Would you like to come and stay at mine for a few days then?"

Daniel's head reeled with the change in subject. As planned, no doubt, by Draco. "No," he said simply. "No, I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not going to be on your side. I don't want anyone to think I'm on your side. I don't want anything to do with your family or the shit it spews."

"You prefer Dumbledore?"

"Who said anything about _Dumbledore_? Are you crazy?"

"Nobody else has a chance. If you're not with Dumbledore, then —"

"Of course I'm not with Dumbledore. I hate Dumbledore. Probably more than you do."

"Oh? Why's that?"

Like a dog with a bone. Really no fun for the bone. Daniel avoided answering, and he did it pointedly.

"You won't tell me what's wrong," Draco determined.

"Why should I?"

Draco wrestled with his answer for a moment. "Because I want to know."

This would all be a lot easier if Daniel didn't need Draco to like him. If there was any chance of Blaise or Millicent or Daphne taking up for him instead. But no, it had to be Draco Malfoy that was his best chance at survival. A Draco Malfoy he knew he could really hurt if he could just convince himself to.

"Forget sides," Draco said. "We're friends. Talk to me."

"I can't forget sides. I won't forget sides. Don't ask me to."

"Okay, then. Ignore sides. You've got a talent for that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco started to count on his fingers. "You hate Potter and Weasley, you like Thomas and Finnigan. You're friends with Boot but you're always fighting with Goldstein. You antagonise Daphne, cosy up with Astoria. You like me but not Crabbe."

"Do I?" Daniel asked with some surprise.

Draco paused with a finger on his pinky. "Do you what?"

"Like you."

"Of course you do," Draco said with just a _touch_ of uncertainty.

Daniel shrugged. "Okay then," he said. "Are we done?"

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

They came back after twenty minutes. Draco shook his head the smallest amount at his mother. Livingstone didn't look well — not remotely. But he at least looked somewhat calm, which would have to do.

"We must be on our way," Snape said, standing and walking over to Livingstone. "Thank you for lunch Narcissa, Draco. Until we meet again."

He apparated himself and Livingstone to Hogsmeade station before anyone could protest. Livingstone gulped quickly, looking decidedly queasy. "Some warning…" he said heavily.

"Your behaviour, Livingstone," Snape said. "Was unacceptable."

Livingstone expelled a derisive breath and stood up a little. Snape took his hand off his arm and waited. "Like you care."

Snape relaxed a little. Truculence he was equipped to handle. "I am your guardian until term begins —"

"You've done a terrific job so far, sir. I feel well and truly guarded. Protected. Guided. Cherished, even."

Livingstone's voice was rising dangerously. Snape clasped his shoulder and apparated them right to the boy's lodgings. He lifted his hand as soon as they landed but after a moment's consideration let it fall again. Livingstone swayed, looking pale.

"I thought you would appreciate being left in peace and safety," Snape said. He crushed the urge he had to apologise; Livingstone wouldn't trust it. Nor did he deserve it. "I have done so before without you showing any signs of resentment. To my knowledge you did not resent this treatment. It was my impression that you appreciated it."

"Bullshit," Livingstone muttered. "Those times you were trusting me. This time you're just avoiding me because you're mad."

"I am still trusting you."

Livingstone's eyes were shining when he glanced up to meet Snape's. For his part, Snape was acutely conscious of his hand on the boy's shoulder. To take it off would be counterproductive, but to leave it on …

Livingstone sucked it an enormous breath and held it. His eyes flicked helplessly between Snape's and over his shoulder. His hands were clenched fists by his sides.

Snape guided him into the house and set him down on a stool by the counter. He considered his words and removed his hand.

"I do not consider myself betrayed by your friendship with Sirius Black," he said. The name came fairly smoothly now. Black was dead and Snape was not. It was a victory of sorts even if the cur hadn't died at his hand. Livingstone set an elbow on the counter and rested his forehead on the heel of his hand, his eyes closed. "In your mind, Black's recent death led you to interpret my demeanour and actions as owing to that event and your reaction to it. I would like you to do me the courtesy of considering that the world extends somewhat outside your experience of it."

Livingstone's smile was bitter and terrible. "You'll be late meeting Dumbledore."

"It is of little consequence," Snape said before he could help himself.

Livingstone snorted and then smiled to himself. There were tears on his cheeks now but Snape hadn't noticed him crying. "Are the Malfoys still as important as they used to be even with Draco's dad in prison?"

"Of course not."

"But still important."

"Yes."

Livingstone nodded to himself then glanced up at Snape. "You can go, now. I'm just going to sit here for the rest of the day, so there's not much point you staying."

"I will return after my meeting," Snape said. "We will have a discussion."

"Oh, boy," Livingstone said with stony inflection. "Something to look forward to."


	5. Provisional Disclosure

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Herbology was all right when it was just to pass the time. The plants tended to not make such a racket when it was just Sprout handling them and though it was awfully hot in the greenhouses it was kind of refreshing to be around so many green things. He hadn't been asked to tend to a single thing that bit or scratched or screamed. Just pruning, potting, watering. Easy.

He hadn't been able to help being assigned to help Hagrid once or twice either. Snape's conditions had been very clear. He could go to Hogwarts and assist whatever teachers were there but he couldn't pick and choose. So there was no room for protest when Hagrid took him into the Forbidden Forest to help him find knarls. Daniel had been uncomfortable for a couple of hours then Hagrid had clapped him on the shoulder, told him to buck up and started in on a ridiculous story about a bugbear, a centaur and a Welsh dragon that drove all other thoughts out of Daniel's mind by being so patently absurd.

It was kind of like the camps he'd gone on a few years ago. So long as he thought of it like that it didn't bring back too many melancholy memories. There were plenty of very, very good memories that had come from his last holidays. So he dwelt on those and completely ignored Hagrid's massive _dog_, who wasn't exactly helping Daniel in his mission to avoid painful memories. Dumb thing was even scared of knarls, so Daniel found as many as he could and carried them with him whenever he could.

But it was mostly Sprout who'd let him work with her, harvesting the last of the out-of-term plants and setting the greenhouses up for the coming school year. She wasn't at all like she usually was in class: then, she was bustling everywhere, dishing out instructions and advice, warm but businesslike. In the summer she was quiet, sometimes so quiet that Daniel could spend the whole afternoon picking Rumbaberries and not hear a word out of her thirty feet away. She made some of the most comfortable silence Daniel had ever been in.

And then he was home every day by dinnertime to share a mealwith Ralph and listen to his incredibly boring stories of his job at the Department of Magical Transportation. The stories weren't exactly boring — people got into some truly ridiculous situations with the Floo if nothing else. But Ralph had no sense of drama and he talked so slowly and his voice was so deep and smooth that his stories usually ended up just noise in Daniel's ears until the end of the meal. Then, after that duty was done he got to go outside for a bit so long as he practised the exercises for Occlumency for an hour each night.

All things considered, it wasn't too bad. He got a few letters from Theo, one from Lisa and the copy of Luna's father's magazine she'd promised him back in March. He'd never read anything as funny in his whole life. He'd have to get some back-issues from her back at school. He'd read the Potter edition, of course, but that hadn't exactly been standard fare.

On the last weekend in August Snape came to visit.

"I do not have much time," he said, breezing in through the door. Good thing Daniel had been trying to do some preliminary reading; Snape seeing him studying was probably the best impression he could have made.

Daniel looked up at him and gave him a perfunctory smile. "I've got loads if you want to borrow some."

"Indeed," Snape said with his mind elsewhere. He waved his wand about in some elaborate defensive structure that was obviously warding but way more sophisticated than anything Daniel could get his head around.

"Who's Defence teacher this year?"

"How have your exercises progressed?"

Daniel closed the Muggle Studies book. He didn't believe half of what it said anyway. "Not bad."

Snape regarded him stonily.

"Honestly. It's not that different to some of the stuff my parents taught me about meditation." And all the central Animagus stuff, but that wasn't something he wanted to bring up. Ever. "And I guess the stuff my other parents forced on me before."

Snape's face didn't change but there was a touch of humour in it nonetheless. "You consider yourself an expert, then."

Daniel shrugged. "I'm just saying the exercises were easy."

"On your feet."

Daniel stood slowly, only meeting Snape's eyes once his mind was free and ready. He couldn't help the smile that spread over his face and he didn't have a clue why it was there. It wasn't like he was going to win …

"Go on," he said, feeling unaccountably cheerful. "Do your worst."

On second thoughts, that probably wasn't the best thing to have said to Snape at that exact point.

"_Legilimens_."

Then everything was a scramble. Snape didn't get in straight away but there was incredible pressure forming right at the front of Daniel's skull. Daniel fought to keep calm behind it, gritted his teeth and pushed back. But Snape was far too quick and strong, and Daniel felt walls dissolving as quickly as he could form them.

In a movement more instinctive than considered he stopped trying to blackball Snape. Instead he took one of last year's memories of Sirius, the one where Daniel had smuggled out the cake on the day closest to Sirius's birthday and Sirius had told him the story about his birthday at Hogwarts in sixth year. He remembered the brief farewell they'd had on top of Ravenclaw tower in third year and it brought back the agonising wrench he'd felt when they'd said that Sirius had died.

He threw all that at Snape and as soon as he felt the man recoil he dragged everything else he could think of far closer inside himself and huddled in, feeling shakes run through his body as the emotions took up residence in the forefront of his mind.

It only took a few moments for Snape to regroup, and this time his attack came more in the form of creeping doom than outright assault. Daniel preferred it that way; he could keep careful watch over the areas Snape was travelling and clear them out before the man got there. He replaced the important thoughts with images as obnoxious as he could make them. He sensed plenty of irritation from Snape but also occasional flashes of amusement and, once or twice, what might have been appreciation.

He was incredibly surprised to find himself on his feet and barely dizzy when Snape finally withdrew. His thoughts were in a bit of a jumble but that was to be expected when he played gymnastics with them like that. At least he wasn't teary.

"Your tactics are unrefined," Snape said. "You make no attempts at disguise or at subtlety."

Daniel waited. Surely there'd be a compliment of some kind coming.

"You must decide on one strategy and stick to it," Snape continued. "Such random actions will not avail you against a skilled and determined Legilimens."

Daniel sank back into his chair. It didn't look like there'd be compliments. "Oh, and you're not one?"

"I am not," Snape said. "Despite that, if I had wished I could have seen everything there is to know in your rather unstructured mind."

"Would it kill you to say I did all right?" Daniel said. "I mean, I managed, didn't I?"

"A partially-organised mind is a greater danger than an utterly untamed one, and yours has received its organisation from a foreign source," Snape said. "You may receive a compliment if I am satisfied you have earned one."

"Good of you."

Snape wasn't looking happy. Daniel kind of classified their conversation as banter but there was a decidedly sour look in Snape's eyes. He'd said that he didn't hold anything about Sirius against Daniel, but he sure wouldn't have admitted it if he had felt betrayed. So Daniel was pretty much stuck.

He'd feel better if he got it out of the subtext and cleared the air a little. "Is throwing unpleasant thoughts out at the attacker a good tactic?" he asked, slipping his wand into his belt. "It felt like it worked."

"It can win you a short respite," Snape said. "In the long-term it is an unadvisable method as it serves to not only infuriate your attacker but also acquaint him more intimately with your mental process. Too, if such memories are connected intimately with those you wish to conceal you will have drastically weakened your own defences."

Damn Snape and his vague not-even-answers.

"You will need to work on your basic defences," Snape continued. "Though the layering of thoughts and forming deceiving emotions are vital to the more subtle uses of Occlumency, in your case it is most important to be able to defend from an outright attack."

"I'm supposed to be staying under the radar," Daniel reminded him. "Why would anyone throw me an outright attack? Oh, and would you like to sit down? Do you want a drink or something?"

Snape looked down at him with wry amusement. "No thank you Mr. Livingstone," he said. "If you do not defend against all contingencies then you are not defended at all."

There was Snape's trademark optimism. "So how do I defend better?" Daniel asked politely. "Or are you just going to point out all the ways I suck? How long are you here for anyway?"

"You need to be far more closely aware of what occurs in your own mind," Snape said. "You have a basis in this from previous events but your understanding is minimal."

"So how do I?"

"There is one more one more diagnostic exercise I must perform before I leave," Snape said. "I have left it until last for good cause."

A shiver made its way slowly down Daniel's spine. Something about the word 'diagnostic' set his teeth on edge and he wasn't sure why.

"The Legilimens spell is the more civilised method of extracting information," Snape said blandly. "There are other, more unpleasant methods by far."

His heart was hammering in his chest now and he was using all the discipline he'd learned to not let his thoughts wander into unpleasant places. "Like?"

"There are a variety of spells to inflict pain along specific passages of thought. Some will excise these thoughts from the mind entirely."

"Like Blaise in third year," Daniel said, remembering.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Indeed."

"But that's a curse, isn't it? You can just defend against it the normal way."

"Competent Occlumency defends against all mental intrusions," Snape said. "Be assured I do not intend to inflict pain on you for the sake of doing so. I must however gauge your natural resistance to such attacks in order to determine what steps must be taken."

No matter how much Snape believed that, Daniel was willing to bet he would be copping it for having brought Sirius up earlier. He resisted the urge to squirm in his chair.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

There was little point in softening the blow. If Livingstone was found out or simply victimised as a Muggleborn wizard it was unlikely his captor would be proficient in Legilimency. There were other more, far more primitive avenues to extract information.

And Livingstone knew it. He'd experienced it, though he'd never remember anything more than the associated trauma. Snape hoped he would find steel at the boy's core. It would be a great shame to be forced to remove any incriminating memories he had regarding Snape's allegiance. Even more unfortunate considering the absolutely necessity of it.

Livingstone shifted in his seat and spoke with only a small tremble in his voice. "So what, you get to beat me up and see how easy it is to break me? And that's allowed?"

The prospect of it turned Snape's stomach. "The alternative is to remove the risk of you being able to divulge sensitive information, which will in no way reduce any danger you are in."

"Well if you're so keen with Obliviate," Livingstone said, perking up a little, "if you have to curse me or whatever now for your test, you could wipe my mind of it later and I wouldn't remember."

Something dark was brewing behind Livingstone's eyes as he sat there. That was enough to convince Snape that whatever was for the best in the bigger picture, if he wanted Livingstone to stay Livingstone he would be treading very carefully when it came to eroding the boy's trust in his own mind.

"No," he said firmly.

Livingstone went still. "So you'll mess me up for your sake but not for my own?"

"To play fast and loose with such charms as Obliviate is guaranteed to cause you permanent harm," Snape told him. "You know this."

When Livingstone got to his feet his movements were spasmodic and tense. His voice was a quiet growl. "I know that I don't have a choice except to do what you say. So why are you even bothering with all the talk?"

"In times like these we are all forced into unpleasant duties and alliances," Snape said. "Resentment is appropriate, if not recommended. A lack of co-operation is neither."

Livingstone remained stony. Snape needed to break down the barriers between them to produce a viable relationship, but at the same time his instincts screamed out that to do so would be sheer folly. Livingstone was only just sixteen, untrained and volatile. He was making every effort to understand Snape, to trust him for the sole reason that he was _lonely_. Whatever Snape had told Narcissa, he did recognise such feelings. He knew them intimately. Arms length was where he had kept Livingstone, the same as everybody else.

Livingstone, being of moderate intelligence and no little insight, was well aware that he was not wholly trusted. Snape could not simply expunge his doubts in the boy but he needed to demonstrate to Livingstone that they could be lessened. That, or lessen the inclinations to fellowship running the other way. He had very little practice in discouraging trust, having spent so much of his time squeezing scraps of dependency out of allies and enemies alike. He found to his dismay that not only did he not know how to go about gently discouraging Livingstone's trust, he also did not want to do it.

"I don't want to resent _you_," Livingstone said suddenly with a rueful grin. "There just isn't anybody else around."

The familiarity of that statement was the last straw. Its absolute honesty, and its pain. "I wish to help you," Snape said. "I have a multitude of responsibilities I must fulfil. They are requirements. I _wish_ to help you."

The grin turned pained and a little wistful. "Okay then," Livingstone said. "Do your worst."

That damned trust, impossible to reciprocate. Snape raised his wand and Livingstone didn't move.

"Your own wand," Snape reminded him.

Livingstone smiled sweetly. "I'm not to use magic outside of school."

"Sit down," Snape snapped. Of course, that was the kind of order Livingstone automatically disobeyed. The trivial. "I said _sit_."

"Well what do you want me to do?" Livingstone cried, lowering himself with a thud. "Do you want me to fight, or do as you say? You have to curse me? Fine. _Get on with it_."

Snape pulled a chair towards him with his wand and sat facing the boy. "I want you to behave rationally," he said firmly. "To invite another to attack you without defending yourself is irrational. To obey a simple order from your head of house is irrational."

"Trusting you at all is irrational," Livingstone countered with simmering calm. "Not turning in Sirius was irrational. Say I behaved rationally. Then who would I have?"

Snape was about to answer when Livingstone appeared to realise something and opened his mouth again. "Abandoning my parents was my effort at being rational. Biggest mistake I ever made."

Set out like that Snape understood the desperate trust Livingstone was throwing at him. He'd known it before, in a way. But this put it inescapably. Snape was quite literally all the boy had left. Oh, he had his friends, certainly. Good friends from all accounts, who wished him well. But he was placed in the middle of two incompatible worlds, and uniquely so. Friendship came naturally to him, but by no means easily. His was a life of suppressed instincts, which was wearing in a way that physical hardship never could be.

"I will not be another Sirius Black to you," Snape said, marvelling at the absurdity of the words as they left his lips.

Livingstone snorted. "I know _that_."

"He tried to kill me," Snape said, feeling a little light-headed. "In our sixth year."

"I know you hated each other," Livingstone said quickly. "I don't care who was right or wrong. He's gone now, anyway."

"I am not talking right and wrong," Snape said.

"I don't want to talk about him."

"I am not talking about him. I am talking about me."

Livingstone was looking mutinous. "Sounded an awful lot like you were telling me he tried to kill you. Key word there: he."

To remove ulterior motives from a conversation was to render it a hundred times more treacherous. Livingstone was a naturally blunt sort: he struggled in the opposite conditions. Snape told himself it was only fair the tables be turned for a short while. "I did not say it to cast aspersions on your friendship," he said. "I wish you to understand whence my animosity comes."

Livingstone still looked troubled. "I don't care why you hated him. I never asked him why he hated you. It just happens."

"Fine," Snape said. He stood up and took out his wand again.

"No, wait," Livingstone said quickly, looking up at him. "I didn't mean —" He slumped in his chair. "I don't want to talk about him. Thanks for — I mean —"

That wasn't enough to have Snape sitting again but it did a lot to push back the resentful anger he could feel rising. "I have asked a lot of you," he said with his last gasp of generosity of spirit. "You have always given. It is not in me to give so freely."

"Jesus, I don't _want_ you to," Livingstone said, pressing himself back in his chair.

It occurred to Snape that there was something he could tell the boy without breaching any confidences. Something deeply personal that would not threaten any important secrets or … But first he assessed the urge. And the boy. And the nature of the admission. There was a kind of symmetry to them. One that might hurt if he looked at it too closely.

"Just do what you have to do," Livingstone said. He indicated Snape's wand with a frantic gesture as though it would ward off Snape's decision to confide. "Seriously, I do trust you. You don't have to —"

"I was … fond of Lily Evans."

The boy stared at him mutely.

"It is a widely-known fact in many circles," Snape added. "There is no burden of secrecy attached."

There was another beat of puzzled silence then Livingstone's eyes widened. "Oh, Lily _Potter_," he said.

Snape felt his jaw clench. "Yes."

"Oh."

"You need to think of something I do not know," Snape continued, avoiding his gaze. "Something you wish me not to know, but not something it would destroy you to have me know. Then I shall —"

Livingstone appeared not to have heard. He was shaking his head. "You were all just like us," he said. "Just the same."

Snape waited. It wouldn't be more than a little counterproductive to cut off any revelation the boy had as a result of his disclosure.

"I bet Blaise and Daphne would do the same thing as the Seavers did," he said dreamily. "Theo fancies Granger but she's clearly keen on Weasley. We've got a Malfoy, a Crabbe, a Goyle." His eyes focused on Snape. "Who was me?"

Snape shook his head. "Do not fall into the trap of history repeating itself. It does not. It will not."

Livingstone looked down at his feet. They were bare, Snape realised for the first time that day. "Thanks for telling me, I guess," he mumbled awkwardly. "I won't share it around."

"I must return to Hogwarts," Snape said. "Next Sunday you will take the Floo to London with your trunk to take the train to school. If you need me before then inform Mr. Rose and he will contact me."

Equal parts hope and disappointment were plain on Livingstone's face when he got to his own feet. "No torture?" he asked uncertainly.

Snape allowed himself a small smile. "Not today."


	6. To Hogwarts

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

After Lisa walked past him and sat down Daniel drew in a long, slow breath. Now they were all four of them sharing the compartment same as every other year he felt like himself again. There was some kind of weird tension between Dean and Seamus; but then when wasn't there? Like as not Dean was peeved that over summer Seamus had grown almost as tall as he was. He'd probably grow his afro out again to make up for it.

Lisa hadn't grown an inch since second year, Daniel was sure of it.

"So," Seamus said, stretching his legs out and kicking Daniel in the shin while he was at it. Daniel wasn't fussed; he'd have time enough to get him back later.

Dean sighed. "Back again."

"No need to sound so thrilled," Daniel said. "It's not like we're here to learn magic or anything interesting like that."

Seamus rolled his eyes and toed off his shoes. "That stuff only works when Lisa says it. She means it."

Lisa dragged her feet up to sit cross-legged. When she realised everyone was looking at her expectantly she slumped a little and rubbed at her eyes. "The optimism isn't coming very easily today," she admitted.

"Well, crap," Dean said. "Don't you realise we rely on you for our pep supply?"

Lisa sighed. "Nyah," she managed by way of reply.

"Pep," Daniel reminded her.

"Get your own. I _need _mine."

The door slid open a little and Victoria Smith poked her head in a little. "Sorry," she said. The others looked between them; of course none of them would know who she was. All Slytherins looked the same to the nobler classes, and the fact that Daniel wouldn't be able to name even half of the second years from other houses was a completely different matter. They had plenty of people to fawn over them.

All things considered, a show of Slytherin spirit wouldn't go amiss this early in the year. "Looking for someone, Smith?" he asked helpfully.

"You, actually," she said. "Daphne asked me to come and get you. They're up in the fourth carriage."

"Good for them."

Victoria hesitated, tugging a little on one brown plait. "She said it was important."

"I'll let her know you delivered the message," Daniel assured her.

She was biting her lip now and glancing furtively at the other three. "She said to come and getyou."

"Well that was very unfair of her and I'll be sure and tell her off for it." Daniel smiled at her as kindly as he could. "If it's so very important she can find me herself. Tell her I said so, if you like. Or don't. Your choice."

She nodded and slid the door shut behind her.

"You'd think they'd at least leave you alone for the train ride," Seamus said.

"That Greengrass just can't stop thinking about me," Daniel said wistfully. "Poor doomed girl."

They all rolled their eyes at each other. "Clever of her to go out with Zabini for four years to cover for it," Lisa said.

Daniel grinned. "It's him I feel sorry for, really. He's the one being used."

Seamus interrupted, sounding as serious as Daniel had ever heard him. "Mate. Are you going to be okay?"

The genuine concern he heard dissolved the joke and made Daniel's stomach twist and grab up at his chest. He tried not to let his voice go hoarse. "In Slytherin?"

Seamus recoiled a little, self-consciously. "Of course in Slytherin," he said curtly.

Of course in Slytherin. What else was there to worry about? "Yeah, of course."

Seamus glowered suspiciously but didn't say anything to contradict him.

"He'll be fine," Dean said.

Seamus stilled and clenched his teeth. "How would you know?" he managed after a moment, not looking at Dean. "You an expert in Slytherin now?"

"You-Know-Who was back for last year as well. Daniel was fine then, he'll be fine now."

"Bollocks. None of them did anything then because they were keeping undercover. Now they're all going to be trying to prove something. I know it."

"Oh, _you're _the expert in Slytherin now?"

It took Daniel a while to realise Lisa wasn't going to step in and calm them down. What she was doing instead was gazing out of the window with exhausted eyes.

"Neither of you know what you're talking about," Daniel said quickly. "Maybe if you two want to fight you could just fight about whatever you need to fight about and leave me out of it."

Dean shifted across in his seat a little and rested his head against the wall. He looked a bit embarrassed but not really repentant. Seamus, of course, looked disgruntled. "I meant what I said," he said gruffly.

Daniel met his eyes for a moment and managed a small smile. "I know."

Seamus nodded once and looked away.

It only took about a minute for the silence to eat at Daniel's peace of mind. "So what N.E.W.T.s are you all taking?"

"Charms, Tranfiguration, Defence, Muggle Studies," Seamus said, sounding glad for the change in topic.

"Hey same," Daniel said with a grin. "Except no Charms for me. I only scraped an A."

Seamus held up a fist and Daniel bumped it with his own, grateful for the goofiness. He hadn't had any of that in far too long.

Maybe if he _oozed_ happiness the others would catch it. He put on his very brightest tone. "Anyone else care to share?"

Dean didn't look away from the window. "Transfiguration, Defence, Herbology, Arithmancy, Divination."

That caught Lisa's attention. "Where does that take you?"

Dean shrugged. Lisa looked at him oddly then back out the window, resting her head to mirror his.

"What you taking, Lisa?" Seamus asked her with pointed politeness. "Charms, I'm guessing."

Lisa nodded, mussing her hair up against the wall. "And Transfiguration, Herbology, Runes. Care of Magical Creatures."

"Creatures still?" Daniel asked. "You had enough trouble teaching all yourselves for the O.W.L.s didn't you?"

"Padma and I agreed to try it together. I'm not giving up on my future just because Hagrid doesn't know how to teach. That wouldn't be smart."

Seamus snorted. "Tell that to _him_," he said, jerking his head at Dean. "Then ask him what kind of a Mediwizard doesn't have a Potions N.E.W.T."

"I only got an A on my O.W.L.," Dean muttered into the wall.

"Yeah, because you gave up."

"Just leave it, okay? It was my decision."

"It was a stupid decision."

Daniel exchanged a confused glance with Lisa. It really wasn't like the Gryffindor boys to argue so seriously in front of their friends. They disagreed plenty, but this smacked of something else.

Lisa was about to say something when there was a knock at the door.

"What?" Seamus snapped at it, slumping back in his seat.

It slid open quickly. Daphne was there and in a snit. Daniel rolled his eyes then remembered to smile. "What?"

"We'd be ever so flattered if you'd care to join us up in the fourth carriage," Daphne said with all kinds of sarcasm.

"We're having a conversation," Daniel told her joyfully. "I'm busy."

Daphne dropped some of her attitude. Daniel amped up his. "We've already talked Millicent into coming," she said. "Do I have to waste time convincing you too?"

"I bet you used that exact same line on her."

Daphne's exasperated silence proved him right.

"Hi, Daphne," Dean said.

"Hi, Daphne," Seamus said. The two of them shared an easy smile, then remembered themselves and went glum again.

Daphne glanced at Lisa who just smiled apologetically and gave a little wave. Then she glared at Daniel some more in that way that reminded him of his horrid grade five teacher Mrs. White. She'd been a real bitch.

Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay was a nice tune. Daniel started to whistle it.

Daphne sighed. "If you're not in there by the time Draco and Pansy have come back from the prefects' meeting you realise Draco will come after you himself?"

That, Daniel did not want. But he could hardly admit as much. So he shrugged and kept whistling. Only when he got to the end of the verse did he sit up a little straighter and look at Daphne a little bit seriously.

"Theo there?"

She nodded and stepped back a little from the door.

"How long for?"

"As long as we need. There are things to discuss."

Daniel found himself looking at Seamus for a cue. The other boy nodded a tiny nod and smiled with only his mouth.

It felt very wrong to get up and leave them there but if all his housemates were determined to have a meeting he had little chance of standing against them. He couldn't expect everything to just be the same as it had always been. He knew it wouldn't be. "I'll be back when I can," he said before he closed the door.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The Dark Lord was certainly attracting a different kind of Death Eater the second time around.

The old hands were the same, of course, though significantly fewer in number than previously. Of Snape's old associates there were only six standing with him now. The Carrows, Rookwood, Bellatrix, Northbrook and Goyle, who looked positively bereft with neither his leader nor his partner to tell him where to stand.

Then there were the new breed. Snape was standing closest to the mirror which displayed them milling about in the cabin waiting to be sent for. Rookwood was watching with him but the others seemed content to wait until the Dark Lord made his appearance before showing any interest.

There was Miles Bletchley, in his first year out of Hogwarts. Amy Morgan, though Snape had not heard anything about a release from Azkaban. Thorfin Rowle. Nadine Miller, John and Muriel Dabbet. Kenneth Johnson and Mark Ventas. Laura Billiwig. Keith Smee. They were wearing their new masks but for the most part had yet to learn the art of adjusting their bearing to further disguise their identities. Johnson in particular stood out like a sore thumb, scratching his beard constantly. Having taught or been to school with all but Billiwig Snape had no problem identifying any of them.

"We were never that pathetically nervous," Rookwood said, wandering away from the mirror. There was no swagger in his bearing to match the smug tone in his voice: he shared his imprisoned uncle's capacity for deceit. "Look at Johnson. An embarrassment to Slytherin, that man."

Bellatrix leaned over and traced one gaunt finger along the man's image. "He's shaking, poor dear," she simpered. "Perhaps I should help him soothe his poor nerves."

"I doubt he'd find you the least bit comforting," Alecto said with a little giggle. "Lewis, perhaps." She looked Northbrook up and down with obvious enjoyment.

"Oh, please," Northbrook said. "Mort's much prettier than I am. Look at those cheekbones!"

"No, I know," Bellatrix chirped as Rookwood scowled viciously. "Severus!"

They all laughed at that, even Rookwood. Snape continued to watch the new Death Eaters in the mirror. They were starting to interact a little, filling out the room and settling into some kind of order. All of them bar Rowle and Miller were attempting to stay below notice. Miller was moving around having brief conversations with them all. Rowle just stood in the middle of the room and casually towered over everybody.

Bletchley would be the easiest one to break if it came to that. The Dabbets could be played against each other and Ventas was smart enough to really listen to alternatives offered him. There was no hope when it came to Morgan, Rowle, Miller. Snape saw the three of them becoming favourites very quickly with the Dark Lord, assuming they survived the severe pangs of jealousy their competitors would no doubt experience.

Rookwood wandered back to the mirror. "So, Severus. You'll know all about them, I suppose. Taught them everything they know and all that."

"That's Bletchley, ain't it?" Goyle poked firmly at the mirror. "Miles. Played Keeper."

Snape nodded. "Strong instincts, but an average student at best."

They all drew closer to the mirror now, looking down at their newest associates and rivals. A tense focus filled the room.

Northbrook laughed shortly. "That's Amy Morgan, that one. Walter had a thing for her for years, poor sod."

"She's a good girl, that one," Bellatrix said. "Very dedicated."

"You met her in Azkaban, I suppose," Rookwood said. "It's a bit of a worry her being caught so easily."

"It was our dear Severus who caught her, don't forget. Nobody else suspected her for a moment."

"She has a great deal of potential," Snape admitted.

Rookwood glanced at him sidelong. "And something to prove."

And then the Dark Lord was standing among his new disciples, wand in hand and utterly, sinuously relaxed. He all but danced through them, letting his gaze drift from face to face, mercilessly assessing. Snape knew what it was to be confronted by the Dark Lord for the first time. For some of them, the exhilaration would outweigh the terror. Now it only remained to find out how many.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel opened the left door of the fourth compartment and was greeted with a burst of laughter and a flash of light. "And then he saw my mother —" Blaise shut his mouth as Daniel stepped in. "Where's Daphne?"

"She stopped to play mother duck a few carriages back," Daniel said. Millicent shifted over so he could fit in between her and Theo. Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle were sitting opposite them, with rather a large gap between Blaise and Crabbe. "Is this going to take long?"

"It'll take just as long as it takes," Theo said. He was sitting sideways, leaning back against the side wall of the compartment with one foot on the floor and the other up on the seat. "Or so they tell me."

"Surely it's just to say remember to be good little Slytherins and be nice to each other," Daniel said. "We know that already."

"It's better to be certain," Millicent said firmly. "Unless you'd rather sleep wand in hand every night this term."

"He already does," Theo said with a smile.

"And you know this how, exactly?" Daniel asked.

Daphne stepped in then, curling a bit of hair behind her ear as she closed the door behind her. "Know what?"

Nobody said anything for a moment. That kind of joke didn't work so well with a proper girl in the room. Especially one whose boyfriend was there as well.

Theo grinned. "Oh, I hear things," he said vaguely. Crabbe snorted. "When's the prefect meeting over?"

"I saw Granger and Weasley just now," Daphne said. "Ours should be here any minute."

"Someone needs to tell Pansy they don't have broom cupboards on trains," Millicent said. "No doubt she's looking for one."

"And Draco's running the other way," Blaise laughed. "_Desperate_ to come and speak with us."

Daphne went to sit next to him, practically pushing Crabbe out of the way so she could fit in. He shifted across grumpily, pushing Goyle into the wall. A moment later when Draco and Pansy came in Millicent moved away from Daniel a little, leaving only enough room for one person to sit on her other side. Draco took the spot quickly. Pansy pouted a little and stood in the doorway for a while before sitting next to Blaise.

"So," Blaise said. "Daniel the Mudblood."

That seemed to upset Theo a whole lot more than it did Daniel. By now he must just be _choosing _to be sensitive.

"What about me?" he said indifferently before Blaise and Theo could start fighting. "Am I expelled from Slytherin or what?"

"If only," Crabbe mumbled.

Daniel brought his fake smile back into play. Mindless banter he was good at. "_And_ yer mum," he provided helpfully.

"Okay, children," Draco said disdainfully. "Settle down. We have things to discuss."

"Who are the fifth year prefects?" Millicent asked.

"Urquhart," Theo said. "Has to be."

"It's Black," Draco corrected him a little smugly.

"And Savant," Pansy chimed in. "No surprises there."

"Black?" Blaise said in dismay.

Daniel really wished they would stop saying that name.

"Simon's all right," Daphne said. "A bit soft perhaps, but no doubt Snape had his reasons."

"No doubt he did," Blaise said darkly. "But we can talk about this later."

Daphne took his cue and sat up straight, hands resting neatly on her knees. "It's painfully obvious to those of us with eyes that you're not Muggleborn," she told Daniel. "At least, not entirely."

Daniel scratched his head idly. "That's nice," he said. "Except for the painful part, I guess. For you."

"You look most like a Rosier," Pansy declared. "So if you brew a kinship potion and mingle with Black blood then the matter should be settled."

"Or Chalmers," Millicent pointed out. "It depends which branch of Rosier he's closest to."

"I can just see him going up and requesting blood of our seventh-year prefect," Draco said. Then he turned to look at Theo. "Can't you?" he added. Theo clenched his jaw and looked away.

"I'm not doing any potions," Daniel said. "And that's that."

They all stared at him. Except Draco, who examined his hands.

"You're … not," Daphne said.

It shouldn't have been that much of a surprise to them. Maybe it wasn't and they had already arranged a plan to guilt him into agreeing. "I've been me all my life, and I'm not going to start being somebody else for all your benefit."

Blaise shook his head and leaned back, eyeing Draco knowingly. "What did I say?"

"What about house spirit?" Pansy snapped.

"Slytherin's not one for all," Theo pointed out. "It's all for one. Always has been."

"It won't stay that way," Millicent said sadly. "Not now."

"What do you —"

Theo was cut off by a knock on the door. Daphne waved it open to reveal Max Frobisher shooing someone away back down the train.

"Er, hi," he said, making one last frantic gesture before turning towards them. He had a crumpled little scroll in his hand. "Got a note for Zabini. It's third- or fourth-hand but I'm pretty sure it's from Slughorn. Professor Slughorn, I mean."

Blaise waved him in imperiously. He hesitated a moment before crossing the threshold then hurried over to dump the scroll in Blaise's outstretched hand and speak in a low, urgent voice. "I've got to warn you, Dennis and Quon are desperate to chuck some kind of thing in here now that I've got the door open. You know, the kind of thing that goes boom. If they manage it it's nothing to do with me. Nothing. They're out of control!"

Crabbe and Goyle got to their feet, shoved past Frobisher and stuck their heads out into the corridor as Blaise untied the ribbon around his scroll. "Gryffindors _out_," Goyle snarled. Crabbe cracked his knuckles. Out of the corner of his eye Daniel saw Theo wince.

Frobisher reared back. "Whoops, that's me," he said. He manoeuvred himself out past Crabbe and Goyle far more elaborately than was necessary and sidled away. "Say hi to Jules for me," he called. Pansy slid the door shut from her seat.

"It's an invitation to lunch," Blaise said thoughtfully. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered back to their seats.

"What, with Slughorn?" Daphne peered over his shoulder. Then the purple ribbon that had been holding the scroll closed lifted itself up into the air and hovered for a moment.

Draco and Millicent had their wands out first. Daniel leaned back to watch.

The ribbon straightened out and started to flicker through the air. A faint purple light followed it, lingering wherever the ribbon had flown.

It spelled out 'BOOM' then sank feebly to the floor.

"That's not a good sign," Theo said.

"Are you kidding?" Daniel said with possibly his first genuine smile of the day. "It's a _great _sign."

They all mostly looked worried. Blaise seemed a little distracted, his eyes flickering from his invitation to the fading word hanging in mid-air.

"I suppose nobody's dead," Draco said. "But that was —"

"It was a prank," Daniel informed him. "That was the start of a _prank war_."

Pansy frowned. "You're happy about a declaration of war? From Gryffindor?"

Daniel forced himself to smile instead of swear. "Better a prank war than a real war."

"It could have been a warning," Theo said. "I mean, it said boom. That sounds threatening to me."

"A threat is when they say 'I'm going to kill you'," Crabbe said. "He was just goofing around."

"Thank you, Crabbe," Daniel said, just to annoy him. "He's a third year. He's in _Gryffindor_. He's not going to bother with the subtle threat shit. He probably just fancies himself the next Weasley twin. I saw him at their shop in Diagon Alley before with the Creeveys."

Then something truly horrifying happened. Crabbe said, "You're welcome."

"I should go to this lunch business," Blaise said. "Was there anything else we needed to discuss?"

"Here's what I think we should do," Daniel said. He'd rather be in with Seamus, Dean and Lisa but now he was here he might as well make the most of it. He'd been thinking about this long and hard. He'd even talked to Snape about it a bit. "We need to stay immature. Immature, and a bit stupid."

Draco and Blaise smiled, Theo snorted and Daphne laughed outright.

"I think I'll stay poised and devastating, thanks," Blaise said.

Daniel leaned forward to catch his eye. "I mean it," he said earnestly. "Look at what just happened. _Start_ a playful rivalry, work for a playful rivalry. We all know people from other houses. Stay friends with them. Who cares what they think of Slytherin as a house, make sure they like you. Turn their hair blue and laugh about it. Then when they turn yours green laugh about that too. If they don't hate you you don't have to fight them. We're outnumbered here; there's no point antagonising all the people sitting on the fence."

"Take a breath," Millicent said. "We get the point."

Daniel took a breath.

"Can't be done," Crabbe said. Daniel's heart sank and he found himself turning to Draco in hope.

Draco shook his head. "You may not have anybody to answer to. We do. It can't be done."

He could have done a better speech. He _should _have done a better speech. "You don't have to go around snogging Mudbloods," he said, trying to rein in his desperation. "I don't mean start up a House Unity Club for Tolerant Wizards and Witches. Just … Goyle, you get on with Stebbins. Go visit the Hufflepuff table sometimes. Pansy, give Belby a smile from time to time. He fancies you, God knows why. Stuff like that."

"They don't just mean their parents," Daphne said, linking her fingers in with Blaise's. "There are people here at Hogwarts desperate to find insignificant things to report and hope they become incredibly significant later. Probably in this room and all."

"No," Millicent said flatly. "Not in this room. We mustn't think like that."

"We have to think like that," Draco countered immediately.

"We can't afford to think like that," Daniel said. Theo grabbed him and pulled him a bit further back onto his seat before he fell on his face. "We're already outnumbered. If we're divided we'll be useless. They'll tear us apart."

Draco's face was so still he might as well have been under Petrificus. Then he swallowed and spoke with a slight croak to his voice. "Do we have any great stake in remaining together?"

Daniel looked from face to face. There had to be something to pull them all together. But they were all looking grim and adult and unfriendly. They probably thought they were being mature and levelheaded. But they were being _stupid_.

"We have to live together," Millicent said dryly. "That not enough motivation for you?"

Daniel very nearly thanked her as well. But the thought of politely acknowledging him as well was too frightening a thought.

Draco ignored her anyway. He turned his stony face on Daniel. "It seems to me," he said calmly. "That you're trying to have things both ways."

"You're the disruption here," he continued when no-one said a word. "You're the reason this is a crisis meeting rather than a simple discussion of the situation. We suggested a way to cut out that difficulty, one that would involve a lot of people's loss of face I might add, which is a sacrifice they are willing to make for the greater good. You refused it. Then you offered a way for us to stay out of trouble that helps you most of all and puts the majority of us at a disadvantage. A disadvantage which can stretch to the fatal."

Daniel hated logical Draco. Not only was he right, he was _creepy_. "What, so if I make your potion you'll try my idea?"

"There's plenty of Daniel versus the rest of the world in that speech," Theo said.

"Oh, have a cry," Pansy scoffed. "That's how he's made it."

"No," Draco said, still directly to Daniel without a flicker of emotion in his face. "That's not what I'm saying at all."

"What, then?"

"Compromise can't go in only one direction," Draco said simply. "If you can't understand that we may have to resort to majority rules."

But Daniel didn't _want_ to compromise. "I understand that," he said a little desperately. "But what I'm suggesting is just common sense. Don't alienate possible allies. And if you think I have wizarding blood, why don't you just go by that? Why do I have to give you my blood?"

"Without proof you're not a Mudblood we can't afford to tolerate you," Pansy said. "I know you're a selfish prat, but —"

"There are people watching," Theo said simply. Daniel turned to him helplessly. He smiled bitterly and shook his head. "It has to be done," he said. "Sorry."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Five stood their ground. Morgan, Rowle, Miller, Ventas and Billiwig. Of those, only Ventas stared back unblinking.

The Dark Lord spoke, and they listened. Snape's gaze was drawn to Bletchley, whose hands were deep in his pockets and who appeared frozen, staring at the ground. Snape held out little hope that he would last the evening. Even if he survived the initial encounter, he was already displaying his weakness. He could at the very least spill the beans on Morgan and Miller, whom he doubtless would have recognised. Snape was certain both of them had it in them to remove him completely.

After a couple of minutes of the Dark Lord talking, John Dabbet broke and ran for the door. Within a millisecond he was writhing on the ground, no doubt screaming fit to bring the roof down. Snape and his colleagues stood and listened in silence with the exception of Bellatrix, who started to giggle and pant at the sight of it. No doubt she would prefer to be able to hear the man's screams, but her imagination was vivid enough that it wasn't too much of a detriment.

Muriel Dabbet did not move until the Dark Lord lifted the curse on her husband and waved for her to take up the task. From his vantage point Snape could not determine her level of reluctance; it did not look overly high.

Rookwood exhaled through his teeth and moved away.

"Turning your stomach?" Amycus jeered.

Rookwood turned cold blue eyes on his fellow Death Eater. "Torture is a tool," he said. "To luxuriate in torture is to remove objectivity, which in turn reduces the effectiveness of that tool. Perhaps you've forgotten that over the years."

"In that case," Snape said, observing Morgan step up to take her turn, "you should be watching to assess its influence on our new friends rather than walking away from vital information."

Bellatrix cackled gleefully. "Morty's lost his nerve! Morty's lost his nerve!"

In two long strides Rookwood was right in her face. "I have lost _nothing_," he snapped.

Bellatrix smiled with unbridled delight. "Ooooh," she purred. "Can you prove that?"

Bletchley couldn't do it. He raised his wand, all eyes on him, hesitated for a long moment then turned it on the Dark Lord and dropped like a stone.

"Save that for our Lord's amusement," Rookwood scoffed. "I have no need for a woman like you."

"Yes, I know what kind of woman you prefer." Bellatrix leaned in towards him, ever so slowly.

Both Carrows were watching the mirror avidly. Goyle did the same, stolid as ever. Northbrook was watching Bellatrix and Rookwood thoughtfully and rubbing his jaw. In the mirror, Thorfin Rowle stood proudly and set Dabbet to screaming. The train would be nearly to Hogsmeade by now; Snape would have to make his excuses soon and be gone.

"Perhaps the Dark Lord will gift you with one when Hogwarts is in our hands," Bellatrix said dreamily. "There's no shortage of them there, from striplings to … all sorts …"

"Bella, don't be _revolting_," Alecto said gustily. "Would you have him mate with a cow, or a sheep? A mad dog, perhaps. And then return to his wife?"

Dabbet went limp and Rowle lowered his wand with unconcealed disappointment. The Dark Lord waved his free hand to encompass all the rest of the prospective Death Eaters and turned back to Rowle expectantly. Rowle deliberated for a moment before turning his wand on Smee who hadn't even a second to react.

"I must return to Hogwarts," Snape declared. "I will return to make my report on the feast. I believe a son of Rowle's is to be Sorted tonight."

"My regards to Dumbledore," Amycus said without lifting his eyes from the glass.

Snape inclined his head. "One day," he said.

Amycus let out a breathy laugh and nodded. "One day soon," he agreed.


	7. With Us

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

It was all Daniel could do to not roll his eyes every time he heard someone commenting how the new first years were so _small_, and that they were sure they hadn't been that small in their first year at Hogwarts. He was willing to bet they'd been exactly that small and exactly that proud and exactly that nervous. All along the Slytherin table people pointed out their relatives, or their friends' relatives, exclaiming over a Tesla here, a Calixto there, an Urquhart standing over with the Savant. Daniel was more interested in picking out the Muggleborn students. It wasn't too difficult, as a rule; they had a very different kind of fear on their faces.

McGonagall picked up her parchment and read off the first name: Tatiana Acuzio. Her brother was a Ravenclaw in Astoria's year but she was sorted very quickly into Gryffindor, with all the cheers and applause that went along with it. Then Tasius Black was placed in Slytherin to a chorus of jeers and hisses. Daniel looked up at the staff table where the teachers were mostly shooting mildly disapproving glares at their students without giving them any signal telling them to stop. Snape was clapping and watching the kid walk over to his new table. He looked displeased with the situation but most of that could have come from sheer exhaustion. God knows what he was getting up to in his "free" time.

Maybe he needed some cheering up. Daniel nudged Theo on his one side and Blaise on the other. "Sonorus," he suggested. "For the next one."

Theo shook his head but Blaise leaned over to whisper in Daphne's ear and she did the same in Millicent's as Blaise leaned over the table to talk to Draco. Up with McGonagall Sophie Bradley went to Ravenclaw and Olivia Brocklehurst and Phoebe Butler to Hufflepuff. When McGonagall called for Jabin Calixto Daniel saw wands come out quickly and quietly. He took his own out and muttered the spell at his own throat.

The hat went with the obvious option and the hall was drowned in amplified cheers and whistles. A chant of Slytherin! Slytherin! started up further down the table where Daniel supposed they couldn't cast the charm yet. Calixto grinned and swaggered over, raising his fists in time with the chant. As soon as he sat down next to Black the table fell quiet. There was a pointed silence as McGonagall raised the parchment again. It would probably be too much bother to keep dispelling and respelling the charm anyway. Best just to say nothing until it was time to go mad.

The next couple went into Ravenclaw, including the first kid Daniel had picked as Muggleborn, a chubby dark girl with short hair called Alexis Cauldwell. When Daniel realised she was probably related to Ed's friend Owen he felt like taking back his applause; that kid was incredibly annoying. Then there were Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff and a trio of Ravenclaws. The Slytherin table provided them all with a polite patter of applause and no more.

"Hey," Theo said, poking Daniel's arm. His voice was at regular volume. "Don't do it for McBurney. You've made your point."

Daniel was hardly going to answer him for the whole room to hear. He pointed at his throat. Laura McBurney was sitting on the stool, getting more and more nervous as the hat took its time in deciding her fate.

Daniel would hate to see the fallout if she wasn't put in Slytherin.

Hushing noises were passing around the table; Theo countered Daniel's charm. A couple of people followed his lead and though a lot of people looked a bit disappointed, they seemed to think it reasonable.

Poor old McBurney was nearly crying by now. When the hat finally shouted her into Slytherin the applause around Daniel had a definite note of relief in it. McBurney ran over to the table, shook Calixto's hand and sank gratefully onto the bench. As the Slytherin table chilled out a bit a Morrigan went into Hufflepuff, and a Muir and a Robins went into Gryffindor. Then Slytherin was gifted with the sequence of Leon Rowle, Matthew Savant, Cearo Tesla and Siobhan Urquhart. Daniel's throat was sore by the time McGonagall called up Jordan Usher. Daniel recognised the dark-haired one of the twin boys in the bookshop back at Diagon Alley. When he was put into Hufflepuff Daniel wondered where his brother would have gone if he'd been a wizard.

Frances Wilkes was sorted quickly into Slytherin, a girl called ZarathaZarketh into Gryffindor and Esme Zuch into Hufflepuff.

"No nasty surprises, then," Blaise said with a sidelong look at Daniel. "Either way."

"What do you think the problem was with McBurney?" Draco asked. "The others didn't take anywhere near as long."

"I can hear you, you realise," Elizabeth McBurney said from a few seats down. "Don't be rude about my sister."

Draco thought for a moment. "Into which other house or houses do you think the hat considered placing her?"

"Gryffindor," Frobisher announced beside her. "Definitely Gryffindor."

McBurney swatted him with her fork.

"I was impressed with Savant," Draco said. If he thought he was somehow holding court, he was mistaken. Blaise and Daphne were having their own conversation and Theo was turned around in his chair looking at some other table. Even Crabbe was more interested in the playfight between McBurney and Frobisher than in Draco's pronouncements. "Now that was an excellent sorting."

"Quicker than yours?" Daniel asked.

Draco's eyes slid over to him. "Hardly."

Theo turned back around. "Come on," he moaned. "Where's the _food_?"

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Once the students and the other teachers had left the hall Snape gathered himself, letting the emptiness of the place soothe him a little. Children were so shrill and careless that they grated on his nerves at the best of times, which this certainly was not. At least when he visited the Slytherin rooms in half an hour or so there would only be a quarter as many of them, and they would be there to listen to him.

There was a great deal he had to say, and they _would _listen. But he would have to say it quickly. Dumbledore was expecting a report on his latest outing, and the Dark Lord on that meeting and the Sorting both. Snape would be lucky to catch four hours of sleep before his eight hours of scheduled teaching tomorrow. The Defence schedule was even less forgiving than the Potions: the hours were similar but the classes were shorter and smaller and packed together like popperpods in their casing.

The speech he was about to make would be one of the most important given to Slytherin house in recent history. It had to discourage all the students from rash actions, discouraging potential Death Eaters from causing trouble while simultaneously appearing to support them unequivocally. He could not appear to be steering his house to its detriment, but those who would make that judgement lived on opposite ends of the spectrum —

No. The Dark Lord and Dumbledore were enemies, not opposites. Taking that into account, possibly the disparity could be reconciled. To emphasise long-term planning and caution above all was sound advice wherever it came from. Throughout the year he could work on individuals and more specific problems as instructed by either or both of his masters. Tonight was all about setting the groundwork and not saying anything disastrous.

He stood and headed to the staircase: no sense wasting time. He would need to arrange a time to speak to his prefects with a more focused message. Tomorrow evening, perhaps. Assuming he survived his first day as Defence professor.

He was set to descend the stairway when his Mark started a dull burn that promised so much more.

The moment the Dark Lord grew impatient it would flare. That could be in five hours or five minutes, depending how much the afternoon's activities had entertained him. However much control Snape possessed over his reactions, he was not immune to pain. It would be impolitic in a vast number of ways to speak as head of Slytherin directly under call from the Dark Lord.

It could be an attempt at sabotage from the Dark Lord, who suspected he would achieve greater control over Slytherin with McBurney and Chalmers at the helm than with Snape, who had to temper his message for the sake of appearances. It could be a message, that no matter what Snape was doing the Dark Lord should always have his attention. There could be a specific matter that required Snape's singular skills that evening.

Whatever the reason for it, the call must be obeyed. In the morning he would speak to his prefects and have them arrange a house meeting for later in the week. For now he would have to trust to their initiative and hope they kept level heads about them.

Snape walked away from the common room, to his quarters, to the fireplace. Thence to Spinner's End, onward and out, blindly following the call from his master.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel sat back up against his headboard, staring at his sheets. Everybody else was standing formally but Daniel didn't want to find out if his legs would support him for any length of time. It wasn't that he was nervous about the result of the test: it didn't matter and he knew it. But with Chalmers and Montague standing just inside the door like sentinels and everybody else so damn solemn it was starting to feel like the world began and ended in this room, with this test. In a way, it did. He hadn't bothered trying to talk them out of doing it and there was no hope at all that the results would stay secret. He'd like to think it wouldn't make too big a difference to his life but there was the nagging suspicion that he'd only been able to make as many friends as he had because he wasn't a "proper" Slytherin. Wizarding blood cut the heart out of that dynamic. He could only hope that his friends outside Slytherin weren't as judgemental as his ones inside it.

Draco took a couple of steps and passed one of his vials of potion to Chalmers, who sniffed it and then passed his wand over it briefly. He held it out at Montague but the bigger boy shook his head. "Just get on with it."

"Crabbe. Nott," Chalmers said. "Your mothers were sisters, right?"

Crabbe tensed and looked up at him. Daniel didn't like the look in his eyes.

"Half-sisters," Theo said. "And I'm not giving you my blood."

Chalmers jerked his head at Montague, who produced two long, thin vials from an inside pocket. "There's no better match," Chalmers said. "The potion will be vanished, just like theirs. Hurry up."

Montague passed one vial to Crabbe and one to Theo. Crabbe immediately used his wand to open a small gash in the palm of his hand and said, "_Subtivis_." The trickle of blood increased then stopped abruptly with the vial about an inch full. He passed it back to Montague and healed his hand absently.

Everyone's eyes were on Theo. Theo looked at Daniel. He didn't want to influence his friend; it wasn't his choice to make. So he went back to staring at the end of his bed and tried not to wonder how many times Crabbe had gone through that process for it to be so effortless and if Theo was the same.

On the edges of his vision he saw Theo holding out a resigned hand. "Subtivis?" he asked Crabbe. Daniel's heart lifted a little.

Crabbe grunted. "And think your amount."

Theo hesitated, then asked. "And the cutting spell?"

"Like you have to ask," Pansy said in exasperation. "Let's get on with it."

"Puntura," Draco said. "Minimus, to be safe."

Theo was starting to fidget. "Can someone hold the vial for me?"

Draco walked all the way across the room to do as he asked. Daniel watched Theo as he approached. It didn't seem like Draco was being helpful just to speed along the process. Especially since Theo wasn't meeting his eyes at all and his lips were pressed tightly together.

"_Puntura minimus_," Theo said thickly. "_Subtivis pollice. Coria resarcio._"

He smiled wanly at Draco who took the vial of his blood over to Montague. Montague handed both vials to Chalmers and motioned for Draco to hold out a vial of the potion. "All in order?" he asked, looking around the room. Nobody said anything so he tipped in first one vial of blood then the other.

It took about a minute for the potion to fade back to clear and then another couple until Daniel could spot a trace of colour in the vial. It was a murky brown that spread out from the middle into a uniform kind of beige.

"Happy?" Draco asked Chalmers.

Chalmers gave it a moment's consideration before nodding. Before his head had even come all the way back up Millicent was casting Evanesco and the vial was gone.

Daniel was getting a lot of expectant looks now. For his part he was going to wait until Draco had done his donation. He was the one who was so keen to get it done, after all.

Draco held out his hand. Montague put two of the thin vials into it. How many was he carrying around, anyway?

Draco sat at the end of his bed and put the vials down on the mattress. Daniel reached out and took one, sick of waiting. Before Draco had sorted out his wand, vial, hand and so forth Daniel was repeating the spells Theo had used and watching his blood ooze into the vial propped up against his foot. Seaver blood. Rosier blood on both sides of his mother's family even though she'd been a Vaisey by name. Solid Celtic blood on his father's side, a possible connection with the Gwilts.

Or so he'd been led to believe.

Snape had helped him work it out; he'd said if Daniel was who he thought he was it made him a second cousin of Draco's once removed. He hadn't been able to find anything closer than a second cousin, but there were plenty of those. All the Hogwarts Frobishers, the Vaiseys. And Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.

He watched Draco clinically extract his own blood and hold his hand out for Daniel's own. Were half-cousins considered more closely related than second cousins? It was the kind of thing he supposed he would know if he'd been brought up like all the people around him.

Draco got up and delivered the vials. Daniel savoured his last moments of uncertainty.

The blood went in, same as before. The vial faded to clear, same as before. The whole room was poised in silence, watching for a glimpse of colour. Daniel lost his nerve and watched them rather than his fate.

Chalmers was looking a little uneasy. Montague beside him was only mildly curious. Draco was making a big show of unconcern, which meant he was hugely nervous. Crabbe, Goyle and Millicent looked bored. Pansy was frowning as she looked between Draco and the vial. Blaise and Daphne were hand in hand without much curiosity: just expectation.

Then there was Theo, clenching and unclenching his hand and looking like his world was about to collapse around him.

Someone exhaled loudly. Daniel swung his eyes back to the vial. There was a brownish stain in the middle, slowly spreading. Paler than the one linking Theo and Crabbe, but strong enough.

"About third cousins, I'd say," Daphne announced into the deadly quiet. "Definitely a significant kinship."

Chalmers nodded. "Anyone disagree?" he asked.

Daniel dropped his eyes to his socks. What pureblooded feet he had.

"Anyone want to verify anything?"

What pureblooded knees.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"Draco is arranging for the testing of the Livingstone boy as we speak," the Dark Lord said.

Snape tore his eyes away from the effortlessly twirling wand, unsure what response was required of him. The development did not surprise him, but its consequences could become very unpleasant. He said nothing.

"Once it is determined he is born of wizarding blood I will have him for mine. You will show him the possibilities open to him; you will turn the Mudbloods and blood traitors against him. He will come to me, Severus. He will be mine."

"Yes, my lord."

The Dark Lord exhaled with relish. "And then I will have Nott and the younger Greengrass, and through her her sister. I will have Zabini and I will have Hogwarts. What do you think of my newest recruits?"

Snape weighed honesty against flattery and, as ever, honesty won its way to the forefront. "There are some valuable servants among them, my lord. I am not confident of any of their loyalties."

The wand stilled as the Dark Lord lashed out with his voice. "_I_ will attend to their loyalties, Severus. You concern yourself with your own obligations. You have not yet spoken to me of Potter."

Snape's breaths calmed him and his muscles slowly relaxed. "He is weak," he said with no little satisfaction. "He did not arrive with the other students to the Sorting; I sought him and found him walking up to the castle with an Auror from the Order. He had clearly been in a fight, and lost. I suspect he mourns Black still and has lost what precious little focus he ever possessed. He will need to rely heavily on Dumbledore's protection to survive."

The Dark Lord bared his lips and hissed triumphantly. "And Dumbledore? Tell me of him."

"He is scarcely affected by the injury to his hand and gives no hint as to its origin." The Dark Lord began to hum merrily, a surprisingly tuneful sound that put Snape ill at ease more thoroughly than any more horrific utterance. "He makes no effort to conceal the injury but neither does he flaunt it. I have not spoken to him since the students arrived; I am to do so tonight."

The Dark Lord's tune petered out as his eyes fixed on something behind Snape. A frothing mass of hisses spilled from his lips, sending shivers up and down Snape's spine. He wasn't afraid of Parseltongue — divorced from context it was not an unpleasant sound. The menace with which the Dark Lord imbued his communications in that language was what set Snape's hands trembling ever so slightly.

"Nagini tells me we have visitors," the Dark Lord said, for all the world like a demented little girl arranging a tea party. "Do go and show them in, Severus. Nagini will lead you."

Snape was not eager to feel the Cruciatus curse — only the truly insane ever were — but the longer this meeting lasted the less time he would have to absorb and transmit whatever Dumbledore's instructions were.

"I have limited time, my lord," he said thickly. "Dumbledore expects me within the hour."

"Oh, never mind that," the Dark Lord said blithely. His wand began to twirl: this time without any assistance from the spindly fingers. "You will explain that I had expectations."

Snape bowed his head. "Yes, my lord." He stood and followed the snake. He refused to be entranced by its supple movement. It was just a snake. A snake with thick, heavy muscles that could squeeze the life out of a man. It led him out the open door, around the back of the cottage and through the rear gate.

Where Charity Burbage stood waiting.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Chalmers and Montague left eventually. The girls hung around for a bit longer but eventually Daphne gave up, saying she had a full day tomorrow including Arithmancy first thing so she needed to get some sleep. Millicent seemed relieved to have an excuse to leave and then Pansy had no excuse to stay.

As soon as the door was closed behind her Blaise did a wonderful thing. "So how much of what you said back on the train was just because Potter was there?"

Draco's mouth tightened and his eyes went a little distant. Heads turned from Daniel to Draco, finally. "For Potter? I don't perform for Potter."

"For Pansy, then," Blaise said knowingly. "You afraid she's going to walk out on you now you've come so far down in the world?"

Okay, maybe not such a wonderful thing. "Just shut up, Blaise, for once," Daniel said. "There is nobody here who actually wants to listen to you."

"I beg to —"

"Shut _up_," Theo snapped.

Blaise looked around at them all. "Touchy, touchy," he said. "What is the matter with you people?"

Crabbe got to his feet and walked over towards Blaise. Goyle stood up as well but hung back by his bed.

Despite being half a foot shorter than Crabbe and sitting down without a wand, Blaise's face showed only mild contempt as his housemate towered over him. "Something for you?" he asked.

"My dad's in Azkaban," Crabbe growled. Daniel could see muscles standing out at the back of his neck. "You keep talking about how perfect your life is compared to the rest of us you might find out that we don't have much left to lose. Not like you."

Blaise lay down with supreme indifference. "Oh, that's what a threat sounds like. Thanks for clearing that up, I was a bit confused after that thing on the train."

His face had never looked as punchable as it did in that moment.

"You seem to be confused about quite a lot of things," Draco said kindly. "Namely, your own position in this world."

Blaise flung one leg over the other and put his hands up behind his head. "Do tell."

Theo cleared his throat. "You're in a room with four, possibly five sons of Death Eaters. We all dislike you quite a lot. You have a lot of money, but very few connections that mean anything. It doesn't help that every man who might be your father is either dead or destitute. Slughorn may think you're pretty, but as far as power in the school goes you don't have the support of the Dumbledore crowd or any other crowd."

Blaise smiled. "And doesn't it just kill you that I don't care."

Daniel pulled his curtains closed. He couldn't shut out the sound but at least he wouldn't be constantly tempted to walk over and slap them all across the face. He had practically the whole day off the next day since he wasn't taking Arithmancy, Divination, Charms or Potions. It was just Transfiguration, and he could do that shit in his sleep.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape's mind snapped into survival mode; his stride did not falter. Bellatrix stepped out from beside her with her wand dangling from her fingers and a wicked smile on her face.

"I brought us a present, Sevvie," she cooed. "Look here!" She slid her arm around the other woman's shoulders; Burbage didn't move. Under Imperius, no doubt. There was no way for Snape to contact Dumbledore, and even less that Dumbledore could do even if he were notified. This cottage, wherever it was, was under the strongest protections of the Dark Lord. It would take hours, if not days, to fall.

"Bella," Snape said curtly in greeting. "Charity."

"Let us in, Severus. The Dark Lord is expecting us."

Snape parted the wards. As soon as he had done so Burbage began to walk along the path around to the front. Bellatrix skipped along sideways next to her with a deranged smile and shining eyes. Nagini followed the two of them, tasting the air as she went. Snape closed the wards firmly and forced his mind away from escape plans. He was worth more to the cause than Burbage and mustn't place himself in unnecessary danger. It was a shame she was captured, but victims all blurred together after a while and he'd barely known her to begin with.

A slow, lazy smile passed over the Dark Lord's face as they walked into his room. "Oh, Bella," he said. "Well done indeed."

Snape waited at the door. If he had any luck the Dark Lord would dismiss him in order to focus more completely on the task at hand. "It is the Muggle Studies woman, my lord," Bellatrix gushed. "As you requested."

"Summon Amycus and Alecto," the Dark Lord commanded. "I know they will enjoy this a great deal."

Bellatrix did a joyful little jump and rushed outside.

Snape must have looked sour; he _felt _sour and was surprised enough by the speed and breadth of the Dark Lord's operations that he perhaps was not guarding his demeanour firmly enough. "Come now, Severus," the Dark Lord said. "Let us indulge them a little while spirits are high."

Snape tightened his control and nodded. "They were becoming quite desperate when reduced to viewing your work with the new recruits," he commented.

"Discourage Dumbledore from hiring another professor of her kind," the Dark Lord ordered impassively. "Let it be known I intend to destroy them all."

"Yes, my lord."

Bellatrix returned flanked by the Carrows. The Dark Lord gave them a smile that promised hours of entertainment. "The Muggle Studies woman from Hogwarts," he explained hungrily.

"Fresh from Hogsmeade!" Bellatrix cackled.

The Dark Lord raised his wand and glanced at Snape. "Did you know her, Severus?"

"In passing," Snape replied with a scornful curl of the lip. "Some level of acquaintance could not be avoided."

"Any requests?"

That sounded like he would be allowed to leave. "No, my lord," he said. "The woman is not of consequence."

The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair and angled his wand at the motionless witch. "_Finite_," he said, lingering on each syllable.

The look of absolute horror on the woman's face as she came to herself was utterly familiar to Snape. She reached towards her hip for her wand and Bellatrix cackled. Snape watched, waiting for the moment when her knees would buckle. The Dark Lord was not a pretty sight: Snape thought so and he saw him regularly. This woman was a civilian in every meaning of the word. She would not be able to resist or defy him.

Glassy brown eyes fixed on his and she tried to step towards him. The Dark Lord twitched his wand ever so slightly and she remained where she was. "Severus," she croaked. "No …"

"_Crucio_," the Dark Lord said idly.

She collapsed instantly and completely. Snape put the screaming to the back of his mind and began composing his report to Dumbledore.


	8. Damage Control

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel got up at seven the next day even though there was no need for it. He didn't have class until three in the afternoon but if the timetables for each year stayed the same like they always did then the fourth and fifth years would be starting at nine. Not to mention Dean's Arithmancy was at eight. He needed to talk to his friends before school began. He had to.

He went down to breakfast with Theo, Daphne and Blaise; no other sixth years had class in the morning. But he wasn't especially hungry so he went straight to here Dean was sitting with Granger and Ginny Weasley. Next to Weasley and opposite Granger, in fact. Which was funny, because Daniel had never heard him say two words about the Weasley girl. Other than them there were just a couple of seventh-year girls, a boy and a girl from fourth or maybe fifth year and then the first and second years down the other end of the table in an excited lump.

He split off from his housemates and headed to the Gryffindor table: better to get things over with.

"Hey," he said, sitting next to Granger. "Mind if I sit here?"

Her face went a little dark but she shook her head, turning a page of her book with one hand and drinking some juice with the other. Dean looked like he thought something was going to go very wrong; he looked around nervously and then swallowed. "This is Ginny, Daniel. Ginny Weasley."

She was really quite pretty; shame she was a Weasley. And that when he'd first met her he'd been in her common room without permission and she'd stolen his wand. When she was twelve.

"Yeah," he said. "We've met."

Dean looked a bit surprised but nodded and scooped up some more eggs. Weasley looked at him curiously. "I don't think we have," she said. "You're the Muggleborn Slytherin, right? Livingstone?"

Maybe she'd been sworn to some kind of secrecy. It was good acting, then. She looked a bit puzzled but wasn't overdoing it at all. If anything she looked bored.

Daniel turned back to Dean. "Yeah, about that. I kind of have news. Basically they did a kinship potion and tested me with it and it turns out I definitely have some wizarding blood. Maybe loads of it. They couldn't tell. But anyway I wanted to tell you it before you heard it from anywhere else. It doesn't mean anything's changed."

"A kinship potion?" Granger said dubiously. "Isn't that kind of magic banned at Hogwarts?"

"Who cares?" Then before she could get all indignant he softened it with, "We vanished it as soon as it showed a result, so there's no danger in it."

She pursed her lips and went back to reading.

"What's wrong with a kinship potion?" Dean asked.

Granger slammed her book shut. "They need the subjects' blood. It's as good as dark magic, really."

"It's bloody genetic testing. Chill out," Daniel said. Granger always overreacted to everything, even when he _wasn't _trying to rile her up.

Dean laughed. Granger blinked at him. "Bloody," he explained meekly. "It's — never mind." Weasley leaned into him for a moment and then away, smiling.

There was something Daniel was missing about that. "It's a magical DNA test," he said distractedly. "Harmless."

"I daresay they told you as much," Granger fussed. "But really, to give your own blood for magic is _always _a dicey proposition —"

"Well it's done now."

She huffed disapprovingly.

"Kinship to whom?" Weasley asked.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Whom?"

"Stephanie rubbing off on me," Weasley said, tossing her hair self-consciously.

"I asked her not to do that," Dean teased.

Weasley rolled her eyes. Well. That explained the frost between Dean and Seamus on the train. Now Daniel just needed something to explain the situation in front of him. The one where Dean had a girlfriend.

"Who did you test for kinship with?" Weasley asked again.

Daniel hadn't expected that question, though he probably should have.

His hesitation tipped Dean off. "It was Malfoy, wasn't it?" he said. "Trust that git to demand you do dark magic —"

"He didn't demand it." He couldn't be bothered putting the effort into denying it was Draco at all. Nobody had said to keep it a secret. "He was just the person most likely to be related to me, they said. I look like a Rosier, and his grandmother was one."

"So you are related to Malfoy?" Dean sounded quite put off by that. Daniel couldn't imagine his reaction if he'd heard it from the grapevine. Or, even worse, from another Slytherin.

"They think second or third cousin," Daniel said. "I don't really care about degrees of kinship and all that, but they seem more willing to put up with me now. So I'm happy with it. I just wanted you to hear it from me. I like that you're not mad."

"I half-expected it," Dean said. "I mean, come on. It's Slytherin. You're not _that _devious to be put in there without old wizard blood."

"It's nearly eight," Granger said. "We should be going."

Dean and Weasley were getting up when Daniel felt a burst of curiosity and unfinished business. "Weasley, can I talk to you for a second?"

Dean turned a murderous glare on him. Daniel reared back a little. "Hey," he said, raising his hands. "Hands off, I promise."

That didn't look like it satisfied him but Weasley gave him a little shove and he moved reluctantly off with Granger. Daniel cast as unobtrusive a privacy charm as he could.

"Did Snape or someone tell you not to talk about what happened?"

She gave him a puzzled look. She was really, really pretty. That wasn't important.

"In thir— in your second year."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I have class now, too, so if you're just going to babble —"

He shouldn't press any further, not if she really didn't remember. But the way it had messed with his memories, all he needed was to find out that nobody remembered it at all, that it was implanted or — "Just before Christmas," he urged. "In your common room? You took my wand."

She bristled and turned an angry red. "You say one more word I'll hex your wand right _off_. I do know how."

Oh, God. Way to get off on the wrong foot with Dean's new _girlfriend_. There wasn't anything he could say to make it sound any better, either. Not if she didn't remember anything about it. "I didn't mean it like that," he said dispiritedly. "I just — I have a thing with false memories, is all. I guess you wouldn't believe me."

"No kidding," she said, still looking angry, but more incredulous now. "I have to get to class." She turned and stormed off, hair gleaming. If Dean was switching to girls, he'd picked a bloody gorgeous one to start off with.

Who now thought Daniel was some kind of a precocious sexual deviant who was insane to boot. A great start to the day.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"He intends to do the same with any Muggle Studies teacher appointed," Snape told Dumbledore. "And intends for you to know it."

Dumbledore stared vaguely out at the scattering of students eating breakfast. "He moves quickly."

They needed to move quickly as well. Burbage was due at her first class in a few minutes; already the pertinent fifth-years had left the hall. Only half a dozen of them, but after that Burbage was supposed to be supervising first years for the majority of the day. On their first day. But then, that sort of administrative worry wasn't something Dumbledore tended to concern himself with. McGonagall, though competent, had too demanding a teaching schedule to deal with this as well. Snape himself had better things to do than search out all the elective teachers and give them additional duties.

"What will the students be told?" he asked tersely. "I trust you are intending to inform them their classes will not be proceeding. A number of them have just left."

"Yes, you had best advise them to return to their dormitories," Dumbledore said. "And review the security in Hogsmeade; it would not do to have to cancel the students' visits."

"Yes, I'm sure Potter would be devastated," Snape sneered. "He may be forced then to improve himself through study, or some other concept utterly foreign to him."

"Severus —"

Snape stood. "I must inform the students," he said shortly. "May I suggest holding a staff meeting this evening? Say, at five o'clock?"

Dumbledore inclined his head gently. "Check with Minerva and make sure there are no classes running at that time."

Snape smiled, trying not to show too many teeth. "The timetable never changes, Albus. All the staff will be available. As long as they are informed."

Heading towards the exit he was cut off by Livingstone, who inserted himself with impertinent abandon in the doorway. He spoke accusingly. "Ginny Weasley doesn't remember meeting me in third year. In her second year, I mean."

Snape hardly needed more reminders of Dumbledore's insouciant brand of damage control. "Why were you speaking to her of such things?" He motioned for Livingstone to walk with him; it was nearly eight o'clock.

"I wasn't really, I just met her because she's going out with Dean and I mentioned that we'd met already and she said not, and then when I kind of hinted at it a bit she didn't know what I was talking about and pretty much thought I was coming onto her but that's not really — uh, relevant, I guess."

"I doubt any of the students you met that day will remember your appearance," Snape said. "Their minds were perhaps otherwise engaged."

Livingstone walked with him in silence for a while before speaking up again. "Oh and also, the kinship thing supports what we thought and soon everyone will know. I have to get back, make sure the important people hear it from me first. Can't have the decent sort thinking I've turned against them."

"Very well," Snape said. "Go on."

Livingstone walked another couple of steps with him then stopped and headed off. At least someone appeared to have things under control. Snape didn't want to think about how Livingstone might react to Burbage's fate. So soon after Black, there could easily be an explosion unparalleled in the boy's history.

Or he might just as well and react with intent and purpose. It was impossible to know. So Snape walked up the stairs to Burbages classroom.

The fifth-year Muggle Studies class was typically small. Biros, Weasley, Coote, Stebbins, Delaney and Bradley. All with that early-morning focus peculiar to the first day of term. Snape stopped in front of them and gathered his robes around him.

"Professor Burbage is indisposed," he said. "There will be no Muggle Studies classes this morning."

They scuffled their feet and adjusted their grips on their bags.

"You are dismissed," Snape added.

"What's wrong with her?" Delaney asked. "Is she okay?"

"She is indisposed," Snape repeated. "You would do well to prepare for your next class and ensure you make a good impression on your new professor." He extended that look to the Gryffindors, who would have the honour of being his first ever Defence Against the Dark Arts victims. Students.

"What's Professor Slughorn like, sir?" Stebbins asked.

Snape smirked. "I daresay you will consider him an improvement."

That rattled them.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel stationed himself at the near end of the Slytherin table and waited for his targets to enter the room. He even ate a slice of toast with the blue jam while he sat there. He wasn't expecting anyone else in his year to be down so early but there was always Lucas, Luna, Urquhart and Vaisey, Hazel, and Astoria if she hadn't already heard it. He didn't fancy telling Lucas, but what else could he do? Point out that he'd never _wanted _to bond over being Muggleborn and that any betrayal Lucas might feel was totally because of his own wilful delusions?

That could be entertaining, actually.

The students really came pouring in at around half past eight. Maybe it would be easier if he just stood on the table and made a general announcement. Going over to Gryffindor was all very well and good when there were about half a dozen there above second year. Now, there could be trouble.

So he went to Ravenclaw instead as soon as he caught sight of Luna's long white hair and glittering hat.

"Hey," he said with a hopeful smile. With his luck, she'd have forgotten about him completely over the summer. "Find any Snorkacks over the summer?"

"Oh, no," she said, stopping in her tracks and making the people behind her tut and walk around. "They're quite elusive, you see."

No point beating around the bush with Luna. "It turns out I'm some kind of cousin to Draco Malfoy," he said.

"Yes, that seems likely," Luna said. "You remind me a great deal of Nymphadora Tonks. Did you have a nice summer?" That awful Delaney girl smashed into Luna's shoulder as she hurried past and so did her friend Lawes a second later. Luna barely noticed but Daniel felt his temper rise.

"It was okay," he said. "Are you going to have breakfast, or just stand here and get clobbered?"

"You might not be very welcome at the Ravenclaw table, Daniel," she said wisely. "There's a great deal of anti-Slytherin sentiment around the school at the moment."

Daniel laughed. "No, really?"

She gave him a suspicious look. Before she could say anything biting or embarrassingly dense Daniel cut her off. "I got the Quibbler you sent. It was great, I really loved it."

She beamed, the change of mood so complete it made Daniel a little dizzy. Or maybe that was just from being jostled from every direction standing in the bloody entryway. "Oh, wonderful!" she said. "Father will be so pleased."

"I'll talk to you about it some other time, I guess," he said. "There's some more people I need to meet."

"It's lovely to talk with you," Luna said gravely and let herself get swept up in the tide. Daniel turned back to the Slytherin table and picked Astoria out without too much trouble — she was sitting a little separate from her classmates and being talked at by a disgruntled Maureen Adamson. Trust Astoria to get told off by a prefect before classes even started.

He wandered up behind them and decided against a practical joke of any kind. "Hi," he said instead. "I mean, good morning."

Adamson turned a gleaming smile on him. Daniel didn't like it at all. "Hello," she said.

When she didn't say anything more Daniel sat down next to Astoria and grabbed some melon.

"Remember that," Adamson said and left.

Nobody was pointing at Daniel or giving him furtive glances. Maybe he did have the jump on the rumour-mill. Thank fuck for the Monday mornings off most of them had. He spoke completely normally, so at least a dozen people around him might hear what he said. "Turns out I have blood in common with Draco," he told Astoria. "Daphne thinks third cousin, others say maybe second."

Astoria set down her knife and fork with a clunk, staring at the table for a moment then up at him. "You what?"

Finally, a proper reaction. And Daniel was all too happy to cause a scene if it meant the message got out quicker. "They said it would probably best if we found out for good. I'm not Muggleborn."

She looked delighted and then distraught then dragged herself back up to dismayed. "After all of everything?"

He leaned forward so she would look at him properly. "It doesn't change what I think about anything," he said firmly. "My whole _point_ is that I don't care what blood anybody's got. I'd be madly hypocritical if I turned into a different person just because I found out at least some of my ancestors were wizards. I couldn't care less."

Astoria shrugged. "I suppose."

Daniel probably shouldn't find her reaction funny but for some reason he did. He could only stop half his mouth from smiling; the other one ran away from him. "Aren't I exotic enough for you any more?" he asked to cover it a little.

"No," she said. "It's not that, not really …"

"What then?"

She opened her mouth, then looked around at all the people watching them and shook her head. "I'll talk to you later about it," she said. "It's not important."

Daniel could wait. He was getting good at patience; came from being alone so bloody much. "Who's Nymphadora Tonks?"

"Malfoy's cousin," Frost said from a couple of seats down. "Halfblood."

"She's an Auror now," Rookwood added. "Lucky bitch is a Metamorphmagus."

Frost shook his head. "Wasted on a halfblood," he said ruefully. "We could have used that on our side."

"Maybe she inherited it _because_ she's a halfblood," Astoria snapped. "You know, mixed bloodlines? Being a good thing? Wizards used to believe that before they all turned into inbred morons."

"You should shut your mouth," Rookwood said slowly. "It could get shut for you."

Astoria laughed. "I could stomp you down in my sleep, Gerry. And whatever hungry friends you might bring along with you."

"Don't you call me that," Rookwood said. He was very slowly turning red. "You may have a year or so on me, but you don't have much else."

"Hey," Frost said. "This is a conversation for the common room."

Rookwood turned away from them and seethed.

"Must you?" Daniel asked Astoria softly.

"I hate that kid," she said spitefully.

"And he hates you. I can see that. But things are hard enough right now without this crap."

Astoria gathered her things and sat grim-faced for a moment. "If you turn into one of them, I swear by everything I have ever known I will never forgive you."

And then she got up and left.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

There were far more students in Hogwarts with a natural aptitude for Defence than there were with Potions. Of course, two of the three classes Snape had taken so far had been Slytherin classes and by and large the children were without discipline when it came to defensive spellcasting, but the talent was there, not least in Bronson McBurney and Iris Osbourne. Osbourne, who had not been a part of anything as ridiculous as Dumbledore's Army but whose grasp of the intricacies of combative casting was phenomenal for a child born of Muggles. Even Jacqui Savant had not been able to answer his questions as accurately, and she prided herself on her capacity in that area.

He doubted Umbridge had been the slightest bit of good to them. Crouch had been an effective teacher, despite or perhaps due to his extremism, and Lupin seemed to have covered the basics passably.

After lunch he had third years, and then seventh. He would have to cut the latter class short; he did not intend to miss the staff meeting he had so painstakingly arranged in his spare seconds.

If the Dark Lord called him that evening he would cut off his own arm.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Transfiguration on Mondays came straight after Charms but the only other sixth years waiting early outside the Transfiguration classroom were Dean and Millicent. Transfiguration was supposedly harder, but Daniel didn't buy it. His theory was that McGonagall was stricter about the precise forms of spells they used and sucked all the joy of improvisation out of the class. Which made people dislike it, which made it harder. Flitwick was cool, so people liked his class and liked that he graded more on results than on process so they improvised more and got better results so they liked the class more …

Bloody O.W.L.s and their written requirements.

The door to the classroom opened and the fifth years piled out, led by Coote and Kirke who promptly dashed off in the opposite direction to everyone else. Weasley stopped off to give Dean a decorous kiss on her way to her next class and to Daniel's extreme annoyance Urquhart and Vaisey both came up to him and for some unknowable reason demanded to shake his hand.

Once they were all through the doorway Millicent headed in only to walk smack bang into Luna, who was ambling along staring straight upwards at an angle that made Daniel's neck ache just looking at it. Millicent grumbled a few choice words and pushed past her into the classroom.

"You okay?" Daniel asked Luna, who was staring around a bit uncertainly.

"Oh, yes," she said, shifting her books in her arms. "I was just watching for Blibbering Humdingers. Have you heard about Professor Burbage?"

Daniel couldn't help glancing up at the ceiling, just for a second. "No, what about her?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Dean said guiltily. "Ginny said there weren't going to be any Muggle Studies classes this week. Burbage isn't around, you see."

Daniel looked between them for some sign that they were pulling his leg. Luna didn't seem the type, but then if she was the type then she wouldn't seem the type. He didn't really know her that well; she could be playing a really long game. With the whole school.

"She was at the feast," he said. "Sitting in between Babbling and Sinistra. I saw her, she was fine."

"I daresay Professor Dumbledore has sent her on a mission," Luna said blithely. "Quite an urgent one, I would guess. Perhaps he's decided to finally investigate Griselda Marchbanks. She's a werewolf, you see."

"Yeah, so Dumbledore would send our Muggle Studies teacher to investigate at the last minute," Daniel said. "Nice try."

Luna blinked at him. "Oh, don't you know? Her husband recently became a werewolf. That's why they have to live in Hogsmeade now."

"Didn't she always live in Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, but now she has to."

A really, really long game. "Don't you have class?"

Luna jumped. "Oh, yes," she said. "I'd quite forgotten. Thank you!" She hurried off, turning the corner just as the first of Daniel's classmates came around it. Granger, of course, hurrying for her next knowledge hit.

"C'mon," Dean said. "Let's get good seats."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"Her family?"

Everyone looked to McGonagall. "A husband and small child in Hogsmeade," she said stonily. There was a brittleness to her voice that spoke volumes about her state of mind. Snape did not envy anyone getting on her bad side in the next — oh, six months. "They have been informed, of course."

"Is … is that wise?" Vector asked. "We don't want a … a panic."

Hagrid sniffed loudly and disgustingly beside her. Firenze, standing in the corner, laid a hand on his shoulder. His demeanour was sympathetic but more than a little detached. He patted Hagrid a couple of times then settled himself back by the wall.

"I don't think lying to victims' nearest kin is an acceptable policy," McGonagall snapped. "Charity believed a little too firmly in the concept of universal goodness. Perhaps her death will serve as a caution to the rest of us."

That statement left the room in a cold silence. Even Hagrid stopped sniffling to let it sink in.

"Is she?" Babbling asked, teary-eyed and fighting for control. "Dead, I mean."

McGonagall had enough sense not to look across Snape for confirmation at that point. Instead, she shook her head. "Our information is not conclusive."

Slughorn stirred a little in his chair. "It is the better for all of us that we accept she has passed on," he murmured. "Regardless of her physical condition, if You-Know-Who has her she is lost to us."

"You didn't _know_ her!" Babbling snapped. Flitwick laid a hand on her arm and she took a long, deep breath.

Slughorn patted his belly, seemingly at a loss as to what else to do with his hands.

Snape had had enough of the small talk. "Minerva, do you have her timetable?"

That earned him several very unpleasant looks from all around the table, but he had vital tasks to complete before the night was done. They could all indulge their feelings later rather than wasting his time with them now, when there was business to be done.

McGonagall nodded and laid a piece of parchment out on the table. Her hands were completely steady.

"We're not still running Muggle Studies, are we?" Slughorn said in some surprise. "That doesn't strike me as a sensible course of action."

"Charity took on a lot of small jobs around the school," Sprout said, leaning over the parchment. "I daresay not half of them are included on this."

They all stared at the parchment with its thick black lines and neat entries.

"Sybill and Hagrid were generous enough to fill in for Charity's first-year duties today at short notice," McGonagall said, her voice picking up some of its customary briskness. "Discounting the Muggle Studies classes there are eleven hours of supervision a week and a considerable amount of informal tuition that will need to be covered for."

"I can take the first years on Monday afternoons," Sprout volunteered quickly. She touched her wand to the spot on the timetable. Babbling started to cry quietly. Flitwick moved his hand onto hers; she gripped it firmly enough that the man winced a little.

"I can cut back on the grounds if I need to," Hagrid said. "The Wednesday, or Monday morning I could do."

"I'll do the second years on Friday," Vector said grudgingly.

"What about Dumbledore?" Slughorn said. "He doesn't teach anything, the wily old bludger."

Snape fought back a smile.

"I don't think we should leave him in charge of a group of children unduly," McGonagall said with fond tolerance of the old man's … eccentricities. "Who knows what they would get up to?"

"Well that only leaves Tuesday," Vector said. "Nobody's free at one o'clock?"

"I am, one until two," Babbling sniffled.

Snape was free from two until three, but surely someone else was as well. He had quite enough to do as it was.

"Regarding the Muggle Studies class," he said. "Considering the possible difficulties in hiring a replacement it may be worth handing some responsibility to the Muggleborn students."

There was a long, long silence.

"The Muggleborn students," Flitwick said evenly. "Severus, I doubt they will want to draw attention to themselves in any way."

"Shall we just put them to the side, then, and pretend they do not exist? If anything their profile should be raised in order to highlight the consequences of moving against them."

"There is some merit to the idea as an educational tool," Sprout said. "But now is not the time to conduct experiments. The students must be safe above all things."

Snape saw McGonagall staring at him suspiciously so he relaxed his posture and let his arms fall by his sides. He could explain to Sprout the difference between cosseted students and safe students another time. "I quite agree."

Slughorn shifted in his seat. "Dumbledore not coming to this meeting, then? His teacher taken on the first day of term and he can't inform us personally?"

"Albus is reviewing our security," McGonagall snapped. "I was under the impression you valued your personal safety over any greater mor—"

"Minerva," Snape cut in. "Was there any more business? For example, what information is to be given to the students?"

"I think we should discuss this between the heads of house," Flitwick said. "Unless, of course, Albus has instructions of his own?"

"I will ask him as soon as I see him," McGonagall said. "Until then we need to ensure we can cover her absence. Muggle Studies classes are cancelled until further notice."

"You had best speak to the headmaster as soon as can be arranged," Sprout said. "If the students are left to come to their own conclusions there will be chaos."

"What could they possibly think of that would be worse than the truth?" Babbling said piteously.

"They are children," McGonagall said caustically. "Do not underestimate their imaginations."

"My worry is that their trust in us will erode," Sprout said.

"Making them more susceptible to outside influence," Snape added, just to make sure the slower among them were getting the message. "I cannot afford to let that happen."

"If anyone has work they need to be doing, feel free to get it done," McGonagall instructed. Then she stared around the room until the only other inhabitants remaining were Snape, Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn, the last of whom had been glared at plenty but refused to depart.

When the door closed behind Vector Slughorn fixed McGonagall with a glare of his own. "I was head of Slytherin not so long ago. I trust you remember."

McGonagall's nostrils flared a little. "How could I forget?"

"Severus, how long do you think you can hold off giving your students answers?" Flitwick asked.

"It is not a matter of keeping them in the dark," Snape told him. "That cannot be done. It is a matter of ensuring not only that they are not lied to, but also that they hear the truth of the matter from the school before they do from any other sources."

"And the houses must be treated the same," Sprout added.

"We need Dumbledore here," Slughorn said.

"We have been trusted with no small amount of responsibility ourselves, Horace," Flitwick said. "I think if Albus is not available to make an overriding judgement we ought to proceed as we see fit. To do otherwise is not in the best interest of our students."

Snape knew there was a reason he liked Flitwick. Hopefully when Dumbledore's influence began to wane, as it no doubt would if he continued this policy of non-involvement, Slughorn would prove equally independent-minded. Sprout was getting there herself, nodding as Flitwick spoke.

McGonagall was looking doubtful. "Minerva, if he did not trust us to make this decision he would not have left us with no means of contacting him," Sprout said reasonably.

Snape would not smile. It would be petty, and possibly dangerous. If they thought he was plotting something dastardly it would not go well for him. But without Dumbledore in the room the scales could now come down on the side of rational thought, and that was a phenomenon to relish.

He would have to see about getting Slughorn invited to more meetings so he could see it as well.

"How soon will we need to tell them, Severus?" McGonagall asked.

"I suggest this evening," Snape said. "That way, panicked discussions can be held overnight and there will be minimal disruption to classes tomorrow."

"A little less flippant, please, Severus," Slughorn said.

Snape turned to him smoothly. "I have no idea why you are still here."


	9. Impetus

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape looked at his assembled house, giving them enough time in silence that when he spoke they would hang on his every word. They had to see him as their most honest, reliable source of information. There must be universal confidence in and dependence on news coming out of his mouth above all others.

Except for the first years he knew them all far more intimately than he found palatable. Given the chance to speak to each student individually he would have little trouble predicting their reactions and planning his announcement accordingly.

There was little science in predicting the movements of a collective. Every nuance in an individual's behaviour, easily dealt with in isolation, could be utterly smothered or unpleasantly amplified when combined with fifty more individually negligible shifts. That was what Snape disliked the most about teaching: it always had to be done in groups.

His group was starting to get edgy; the silence had stretched long enough.

"Professor Charity Burbage has been abducted," Snape said to the room at large. "Therefore Muggle Studies classes will not be running this week."

The younger students huddled together, the movement barely perceptible. Some of the older looked cocky, some guarded, a few devastated. None showed any trace of doubt as to who was responsible for the abduction or its motivation.

"This incident will not become a weapon in any of your hands," Snape said. "Not as a triumph nor as an opportunity to attain moral superiority. I expect to not have to enforce such a guideline as mutual respect in a time such as this. If, however, I am forced to do so, I will not hesitate. Sooner avoid my displeasure."

It was a painstaking task but Snape took the time to seek out and hold every single student's gaze and take note of those who would need close attention in the days to come. There was that developing band of first-years looking mutinous and a similarly fixed group of smug fourth-years. Individually, Livingstone and Nott looked shattered which was no surprise, but Greg Prewett's white face and blinked-back tears were entirely unexpected. Orion Urquhart was crying tears of shock more than grief and as ever such tears were threatening contagion.

On the other side of the equation the Calixto siblings were exchanging exultant looks, Rhodri Gwilt was trying and failing to hold back a smile and Pansy Parkinson was looking as proud as if she'd engineered the whole thing herself. The seventh years had uniformly schooled expressions; Snape suspected they had heard something of it in advance.

"I encourage anybody having trouble in the next few days to speak to your housemates, your prefects, or me if you arrange to do so in ample time. Similarly, if I hear from any other student or professor that Slytherins have been behaving in antisocial, immature ways towards other students or staff there will be severe consequences. There will be no trips to Hogsmeade until further notice."

It was a relief that nobody was inclined to speak. "I will see the following students in my office tonight," he said. "Aisley and Pauline Dabbet at ten, Draco Malfoy at ten-thirty, Daniel Livingstone at eleven. I will leave you in the hands of your senior students. Good evening."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The fire settled back to orange. Snape did not wonder how many more students he would see off in this fashion. There was no sense in it. He had ten minutes before Malfoy would turn up and seven classes tomorrow at four different year levels with precious little time to prepare.

Then he remembered that to remain on top of things it was often quite useful to eat meals now and again. He called for Rosty who immediately appeared with the tray set out for him.

There were classes to prepare but Snape sat at his desk, ate sandwiches and let his mind sit in blessed blankness for a while. A short while, but a healing one. When the knock came at his door he sent the remains back to the kitchens with a flick of the wand and set his brain back into action.

He set his wand on the table. "Enter."

Malfoy slid into the room and closed the door quietly behind him. Snape stared a little longingly at his ignored lesson plans though the longing came nowhere near reaching his eyes. It was rather sickening that he felt it at all: teaching wasn't exactly his favourite pastime. He waited until the boy had sat down and looked up with just a hint of sympathy in his gaze.

Insouciant. Not only was that precisely the pose Malfoy was displaying for him, he was probably doing so with that exact word in mind. With one ankle resting casually on the other knee and his hands clasped loosely in his lap, Draco Malfoy bore a striking resemblance to his father. And he knew it.

"Your prefect duties were not carried out satisfactorily last year," Snape said, just to see if he would deny it.

"Give it to Zabini, then," Malfoy said carelessly. "I have other things on my mind these days."

"However busy your personal schedule becomes during this year I expect you to devote an appropriate amount of your time and energy to house duties. This is not negotiable, nor is it an unreasonable imposition. You were chosen as prefect for a reason."

Malfoy blinked slowly but gave no other reaction.

"You are a competent follower, Draco," Snape said. "Of this I have no doubt."

The grey eyes narrowed and the mouth pinched a little. Snape paused, letting him think through whatever thoughts were in his mind. Then, once he was resettled: the question.

"Can you lead?"

Malfoy masked a sudden panic with a heavy dose of injured pride. "I was chosen as prefect for a reason," he said resentfully. "Of course I can lead."

"I have not seen any such indication."

Malfoy tried to brush the comment off. The resentment and self-doubt lingered all the same.

He affected his haughty air once more. "Was that all, sir?"

"No," Snape said evenly. "You are under no circumstances to attempt to brew Felix Felicis, or to procure any."

A sullen look crept into the cold grey eyes. Malfoy settled deeper into his supercilious defence. "I have no intention of it, sir. The potion is well beyond N.E.W.T. standard; Professor Slughorn was quite clear about that."

It was a good enough lie, as they went. Unfortunately for Malfoy Snape knew exactly how he thought, due to prolonged exposure to both sides of his family and the boy himself. If something existed, a Malfoy had a right to it. If a Black had a desire, it must be sated.

It was yet to be seen whether Draco Malfoy would succumb wholly to either or both of those principles.

"Professor Slughorn is a permissive man," Snape said. "Do not make the mistake of thinking that you are surrounded by them."

Malfoy's lips parted in a smile of sardonic tranquility. It was the first expression Snape had seen on him during the meeting that hadn't come straight out of the school of Malfoy hauteur. "I won't be making that mistake," he said, shaking his head a little.

Battles that could not be won were as well not fought at all. "If you lay your hands on anything resembling Felix Felicis I expect you to confirm its caliber and potency using the most reliable method available to you."

Malfoy understood him, but he resisted agreeing and that was as far as Snape was willing to nudge him for the moment.

"Your prefect duties, Draco," he said by way of farewell. "Expand upon them."

Malfoy stood smoothly and nodded. "Certainly."

Snape let him get to the door before his final reminder. "Draco."

The boy turned, striking a pose so classically Malfoy as he did that Snape couldn't hold back a small smile. To his surprise, Malfoy acknowledged it with a sheepish grin of his own. So there was a trace of humanity to be exploited.

He pushed just a little further. "Do it for your house," he said. "Not for yourself."

Malfoy considered that silently and removed himself from the room.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Maybe he should write a list. Just to make sure he never forgot how angry he was supposed to be. He didn't care now that Burbage was gone. Well he did, kind of. There were tears in his eyes, after all, and he was having to stop himself from imagining what might have happened to her. He'd known her for years, been one of her favourite students, kind of.

She'd easily be higher on the list than Vance or Bones or Marlowe or Fortescue or Ollivander or Haines. But Daniel just didn't see himself getting past that first name any time soon. Trying to get worked up about professors and shopkeepers dying would be pointless when all he had to do to feel six years old and desperately alone and furious and terrified was to think of one man.

The clock showed quarter to eleven. It wouldn't be very good form to duck out without saying something to Theo but if he went to talk to him and he was all emotional, or even worse, unemotional, then Daniel couldn't very well just go off to a meeting and leave him alone down here. The curtains were closed, but these days Daniel was trying to be a better friend. He just wasn't quite sure what that actually meant when it came to Theo.

He'd work it out later. He made his way to the door and called out, "Going to see Snape, back soon."

Theo didn't stick his head out so Daniel hurried up to the common room and out, ignoring everyone he met on the way. That included Blaise, Astoria and Rowle who all looked like they had something to say. Rowle was especially bizarre; Daniel hadn't spoken more than a sentence to her at a time, but she hustled past a couple of older students in an effort to get to him.

He made it to Snape's office without any eye contact to anybody and had a good five minutes outside the door to try and predict what Snape might want to talk to him about and make sure he wouldn't have any embarrassing reactions to any of it. He had plenty of practice buckling up when it came to Sirius, but if Snape got even slightly sympathetic because of Burbage there was the chance it would crack him.

Hopefully it was just to practise Occlumency and there'd be no kind of crisis talks of any kind. He didn't realise he'd closed his eyes until the door opened five feet away from him and they snapped open automatically. Draco came out of Snape's office, stared haughtily at Daniel and swept himself away down the hall.

"Hey," Daniel called after him. "Talk to Theo when you get back. Make sure he's all right."

Draco turned, holding out an arm partway so his robes did a little swirl. He waited.

Daniel plastered on his fake smile. "Please," he added.

Draco didn't deign to nod but Daniel could tell he'd do it. He swept off down the corridor and reminded Daniel so strongly of Lockhart he had to cover his mouth to make sure nobody heard him laugh.

To say Draco was putting on airs and graces was an understatement. Daniel wished he didn't know it just meant he was nervous; he needed _someone _to shout at who wouldn't murder him on the spot. Snape, he suspected, was not that person. For all that he was apparently trying to be friends with Daniel, or protector or something, he was on the unforgiving side of the scale.

Daniel called on every ounce of calm he had in him, walked in and shut the door behind him.

"Mr. Livingstone," Snape said from behind his desk. "Please, sit down."

Please? Oh, boy.

It looked like there were quite a few words stuck in Snape's throat. Then he shook them away and shuffled some papers on his desk. Daniel sat down.

"I want you to make an effort with Draco Malfoy," Snape said.

That took a moment to sink in. Of all the topics Snape could have dragged Daniel into his office this late for, they were going to talk about Draco? "I always do," he said. "He's high-maintenance."

Not even a trace of a smile at that. "If you push him away, he will be pushed," Snape said. "That is not an acceptable result."

If Daniel had learned one thing about Draco Malfoy in the last five years, it was that he would _not _be pushed away. He was one of the least pushable people Daniel had ever met when it came to his own friendships. But it wasn't Snape's business how he got on with his friends, so he just shrugged. "I'm not pushing anyone."

Snape didn't say anything.

"Was that it?" Daniel asked hopefully.

"Regarding Muggle Studies." Snape said the subject with the usual derisive tinge. Daniel had never been able to work out whether that was disdain for Muggles or just for the ridiculous state of the subject. Probably both. "It is unlikely another professor will be appointed to the position."

"No shit! I mean, yes. I … yeah."

Still a complete lack of humour on the man's face. What was it going to take? He didn't exactly have an unending supply of Gryffindor jokes. Or the ability to work them naturally into conversations.

"It would be unfortunate for such an area of study to fall completely by the wayside."

Daniel was so bloody sick of subtle. This kind of completely obvious subtle was the worst of all. Snape pulled it off okay, generally speaking, but the people who tried to imitate it were usually the hopeless ones. "Yeah, it's a great shame." The words came out more curtly than Daniel had intended. He tried to soften it by being all intuitive and insightful. "Maybe we should start Burbage's Army and study it in guerilla groups during free periods."

Well. That hadn't come out as mollifying as he'd hoped. More … painfully sarcastic. He tried smiling disarmingly. Cheek muscles, that was it. He was toning his cheek muscles.

His face hurt. "Is that all?"

"No," Snape said. But then he didn't say anything else. Just watched Daniel without a hint of an expression.

"Well I'm done," he said. "I need to go to sleep. For all my classes."

"I want you to request my assistance should you require it for extracurricular activities." It was like the words were being dragged out of Snape's immobile face. "Especially if you feel the stakes are high."

Daniel put on a look of polite doubt. "Information as currency?"

The man's face hardened. Daniel wondered if his feelings were hurt. He wondered how you could ever tell. "Were you there when she died?"

Snape looked less surprised that he'd asked than Daniel felt himself. Where that question had come from he had no idea. Snape was all in with the Death Eaters, so of course he'd know everything about what happened. It didn't mean he'd been there himself.

"I believe she yet lives," Snape said.

Daniel stared at him for a long moment. It sank in. He stood up. Snape stayed sitting there.

"My assistance, Livingstone," he said. "Do not forget."

Daniel turned and measured his steps out of the office. He looked both sides and pulled out his wand. "_Chamaeleo_."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape put all his problems to the back of his mind and went to sleep.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel kept his eyes out for Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, ghosts and patrolling professors. By the time he was up at the seventh floor the tally was Ravenclaws: 3, ghosts: 1, patrolling professors: zilch. It was pretty obvious what McDougall and Frost were doing skulking around in the dark after curfew but Daniel had no idea when it came to Ackerley and the fourth floor.

Then again, he didn't particularly care. All he could manage was Homenum Revelio, quickly followed by Emanio Pulvis Maxima and then brisk pacing back and forth with his thoughts all spinning in the same direction. _I need to know how to destroy the Dark Lord … I need to know how to destroy the Dark Lord … I need to know how to destroy the Dark Lord …_

The door appeared almost immediately. Small, wooden and slightly green-tinged. When Daniel turned the handle there was a slight clunk and it swung outwards silently. He looked around himself one more time and ducked into the room.

It was far smaller than any other time he'd been able to get in. He closed the door quickly behind him. Soft yellow light filled the room. It was barely five paces along each side and the stone ceiling was so low that Daniel could touch it without even jumping.

There were two books resting in one corner next to a heavy brown beanbag. And that was it. There wasn't even a window. Or a chair. Or anything. So he dropped into the beanbag and let out a long, slow breath. Now that his vague fantasy that the room-that-could-fix-anything would be able to help him with this had apparently come true, he wasn't quite sure what to do.

If he found out a way to destroy the Dark Lord, or even got any slight information that might help, that meant he would be obliged to actually … do something.

Sirius would have done it in a second.

And look where he'd ended up.

Potter didn't have a choice in it. He was a prat, but it wasn't like Daniel wasn't one as well.

The Dark Lord dying would really piss off Bellatrix Lestrange.

Daniel reached out with his feet and nudged the books to within arms reach. He picked up the smaller one and slid it from hand to hand, testing its weight and the weight of expectations it might dump on him. There was nothing written on the outside of it.

"Fuck it all," Daniel said, and opened it.

It was more like a ledger or some kind of accounting thing than a proper book. All it had in it were names, and dates. He flipped to the title page. Regents Park Children's Home, it said. Daniel blinked at it stupidly for a while then switched to the second book. It was bound with what looked like blue leather and had no title on the spine or the front cover. Secrets of the Darkest Art, it said on the title page.

Daniel looked between the two books. If all he needed to defeat the Dark Lord was what was right in front of him, found by wandering into Hogwarts' spare room, then Dumbledore sure wasn't pulling his weight.

He put down the Darkest Arts book. He'd work up to looking at that one after he'd puzzled out the orphanage one. What good a bunch of statistics about an orphanage did was a complete mystery. Assuming the room knew its business one of the names in there was probably something to do with the Dark Lord, but how was Daniel supposed to know which one it was? And what good would that do him, even if it was details on the Dark Lord himself? Unless there were spells that killed everyone who shared a birthday, knowing the guy's life details wasn't going to be all that helpful.

He flicked through it for a while watching the years pass from the nineteenth century to the twentieth. He didn't even know vaguely how old the Dark Lord was. The book was useless. But then, the room had never gotten a thing wrong before and it had been bloody specific about what it gave him. Two books, and two books only.

The blue book rested casually beside him, taunting him with its obvious usefulness. Daniel gritted his teeth and forced himself to think.

So the Dark Lord grew up in an orphanage. Fine. He didn't seem like the kind of bloke who would keep in touch with his family one way or another, so that wasn't particularly helpful. Maybe it was to do with which particular orphanage it was. Daniel had no idea where Regents Park was, and he didn't see how that was much of a clue either.

He needed to think of something more basic.

The beanbag was really comfortable. It was nearly putting Daniel to sleep. Potter was an orphan too, he thought blearily. And so was Daniel himself. It was just a big old no-parents party in prophecyville. None of the cool kids were invited.

What other orphans were there? There was Longbottom, in a way. Yates, Adamson, Warrington. A bunch of Slytherins who were out of Hogwarts by now. But they all lived with some kind of family. Even Potter lived with his Muggle relatives. What would have happened to Daniel if his parents hadn't moved him into the Muggle world?

Well, he'd be dead at the Dark Lord's hand. That thought wasn't particularly helpful. But it helped Daniel realise something. If Voldemort had ended up in an orphanage, it meant nobody would take him in. Even with wizarding families so interconnected, nobody had wanted this kid. Maybe they didn't know he existed, but the effect was the same. Probably why he was such a pissy bastard, living with that. But then … Daniel _knew _there was something he was missing. How did knowing the guy was an orphan help at all in getting rid of him?

There just weren't enough wizards for there to be orphanages with this many kids. Which meant it was a Muggle orphanage. Which could mean any number of things. He was dumped by his family there, his parents were killed and he was found by Muggles. And nobody followed it up? Nobody cared.

Daniel tossed the book down onto the floor. He'd have to ask around among smart people to know what it meant. Why a pureblood wizard would end up in a Muggle orphanage. It was weird enough that it might be a proper clue.

Yeah, he could just go around asking his Slytherin buddies exactly how old is the Dark Lord anyway? Who's his family?

Yeah.

And the Secrets of the Darkest Art were just sitting there by his elbow, waiting. Maybe it was something about the two books together. The orphanage book might be useless without some random extra information from this other book. Maybe there was a note in the margins somewhere with the key to the code.

So he opened it and started to read.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The harsh buzzing took a few seconds to make it all the way from Snape's ears to his brain. He was halfway into his Death Eater robes before he realised it wasn't the Dark Lord's call which had woken him. It was the alert for somebody outside his office, spinning slowly and vibrating as it buzzed.

He checked the clock. One in the morning. He ran fingers through his hair, fixed his clothes and put on regular teaching robes over the top. He put on shoes and went so far as to cast a anti-wrinkle charm on his robes. Let them think he never slept. Let them think he'd been in the middle of something difficult and important.

He walked briskly from his chambers into his office and out to the door. Livingstone, he guessed. Perhaps Malfoy. He fixed his most hostile glare and opened the door.

Blaise Zabini fed on disapproval in much the same way Boggarts fed on fear. First generate it, then revel in it. Snape amended his expression to one of weary anticipation and tried to remember if Zabini had come to him unbidden even once before now. He could not recall any such occasion.

Zabini met his eyes without compunction. "Is Daniel still in with you?" he asked, for all the world as if they were chatting over butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks.

"He is not."

Zabini's expression retained its customary genteel detachment in all but the eyes. Not only were they striking, they were hopelessly expressive once their code had been unravelled. They flicked a little right, then unfocused a little before returning to normal, a little tight around the edges.

"He hasn't been back in the dormitory," Zabini said. "He might be doing something stupid; he probably took the news personally."

Zabini had enough wit to anticipate Snape's reaction to this development so there was no reason not to speak it aloud. "Why does this constitute an emergency, in your opinion? I am certain this is not the first time Mr. Livingstone has been out after curfew."

"A lot of things are different now," Zabini said simply.

The matter of Zabini's personal investment would have to be explored when Snape had a spare few minutes to string together. Right now what he needed was sleep.

"I will look into the matter," Snape said. "Return to your dormitory."

Zabini's eyes narrowed and the look he gave Snape bordered on hostile. "Yes, sir." When it became clear that Snape had nothing more to say to him and would not move until he left, his jaw tensed and he turned to walk back to the dormitory.

Snape closed the door. For a moment he considered the possibility that Livingstone was in some kind of danger. Then a yawn crept up on him and he headed back to his chambers. Livingstone was not excessively rash, nor as incompetent as Zabini seemed to think. Surely Zabini knew of the boy's tendency to wander off alone when he was troubled or overwhelmed.

Perhaps he didn't. The two boys weren't anything resembling friends. Which made Zabini's apparent concern all the more bizarre —

He shut off the useless spiral of thoughts and returned to bed. Just before he sank back into sleep something nagged at him. Something about Zabini. But it slipped away before he could get a proper hold on it, and then he was gone.

.


	10. First Steps

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The idea of a Horcrux wasn't anything particularly thrilling, and it was something Daniel could have made a pretty good guess at in any case, given the clues available. Bits of souls in objects, murder being evil, bad guys trying for immortality and so on and so on. So the book was going swimmingly until chapter two: History and Development. That was where the pictures started, stark black and white sketches that left exactly the most unsettling amount to the imagination.

Dark magic, the way most people talked about it around Daniel, was a completely meaningless classification. It wasn't magic itself that was dark: Aurors could use Unforgivable Curses whenever they felt like it and never faced a day in Azkaban. Blood magic was used for protection all the time, though by the letter of the law it was dark. There were perfectly innocent, everyday spells that could cause more damage than any number of forbidden curses. The term dark magic was for the pretentious, the sanctimonious and the naively idealistic. People who didn't truly understand magic and its vast potential towards both good and evil. If such words really had meaning that applied to the real world.

Daniel wondered if people like Jo Chalmers and Caroline Miller had seen artists' impressions of the extensive research conducted on the mutilation of the soul. Precisely how the souls of Muggles differed from those of wizards. How an infant's soul was infinitely more volatile and, by the look on one witch's face, delicious. He wondered if they knew the exact point at which a soul stopped being considered fragmented and turned the corner into being mutilated. The difference between a soul split willingly and reluctantly. The repercussions of a soul split by its own magic, or by the magic of another.

The levels of agony involved. Scientific analysis of the likelihood of any combination of factors leading to the death of the subject. The looks on their faces as it happened. The looks on their faces after it had happened. The _diagrams._

He couldn't put it down, no matter how much he wanted to. He had to get it imprinted on his brain, and then he could never, ever end up treating dark magic with the casual approval that most of his fellow Slytherins showed. The Dark Lord, if he was messing with all this stuff, wasn't a warlord like Daniel had mostly imagined him to be. He wasn't the general of the pureblood army, who could be treated as a worthy opponent who was just on the wrong side. He was a vile, twisted semi-man who did horrific, disgusting things to hurt people to prop up his own existence.

For whatever reason, Daniel couldn't put the book down. That didn't mean he could brace himself for another chapter though. He left one hand resting on one page and picked up the orphanage records with the other. He opened it on his lap.

There had to be a connection. Two books, to help destroy the Dark Lord. No, two books to tell him how to destroy the Dark Lord. The safest assumption to make was that the Dark Lord had a Horcrux.

Perhaps he'd killed one of the orphans to make his Horcrux? Children's souls were vibrant, the book said. Children could feel a kind of pain and loss so vivid and untempered by anything that it was pure bliss to people who enjoyed that kind of thing.

There were some kids who were recorded as having died at the orphanage. Not many, but some. Magic could easily have them looking like they'd died of natural causes. And memories could be wiped easy as blinking. If the Dark Lord had made a Horcrux at the orphanage he wouldn't have left a trace even at the time, let alone one that had lasted all these years.

So how did it help?

The war had been in the seventies, so the Dark Lord had to have been born around or before 1950. Any amount before, too. Bloody immortality.

Daniel turned his attention back to the Horcrux book. There were five more chapters, all up. Two with advanced theory, one of step-by-step instructions, one discussing dangers and then one on getting rid of them once you'd made them.

Something inside him wanted to force him through the lot. Something angry and a more than a little bit desperate. Something that told him the more he hurt, the stronger he'd be. The more he hated the Dark Lord and all his people, the better chance he had at defeating them.

Something bone-jarringly _stupid_ was telling him that. Daniel turned straight to the chapter on destruction. He just hoped that dark-magic-to-destroy-dark-magic principle Snape was so fond of had serious exceptions. Serious, gaping exceptions where the darkest of dark arts could only be destroyed by puppies and kittens. And rainbows. Though he didn't exactly know how to create rainbows using magic. There was probably a spell for it somewhere.

Destroying a soul, though. That was probably always dark by the letter of the law. The stupid magical law. Whoever managed to destroy the Horcrux would probably have to break a million laws to do it. Knowing the Ministry, they'd spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban.

That was enough thinking. He started to read.

Remorse. Strong enough remorse could what, reattach the bits of soul? The book didn't treat that idea with much respect, and no wonder. The whole point of breaking up the soul was it destroyed who you were. It prioritised quantity of life at the expense of quality of life. Emotional turmoil, moral dissonance. They dressed it up all fancy in the book, but basically it turned you into more of a monster the more times you'd been broken. The Dark Lord had had a Horcrux since at least 1981. With his body dead along with the piece of soul in it, he was running on half a soul and presumably had been for fifteen years.

Daniel doubted such a creature would be capable of going down the wholehearted remorse road. Even if he had ever felt guilty for anything in his life, the feeling wouldn't have lived through whatever hell he'd put his soul through in later years. So it would fall to flat-out destruction. The book didn't go into anywhere near as much detail on methods of destruction as it had on the ins and outs of every experiment ever conducted along the development of the Horcrux. And hardly any pictures, either.

It took the Killing Curse to destroy a living Horcrux. The rest had to simply be damaged beyond repair. Magical repair went a long way, and nothing in the book said exactly where that limit was. Funny, it was almost like they didn't _want _the things to be destroyed. Big surprise.

The thinking part of Daniel's brain had just about had enough. There was something to be said for regular studying, and that was that it gave you some kind of intellectual stamina. Daniel had cracked his books maybe a dozen times over the holidays, and barely for more than half an hour at a time.

He flipped idly through both books at once. If he gave it long enough, something had to jump out at him. He had faith in this room, damn it, and it would tell him what to do if he asked it nicely enough. Which he had. So the answer _was _here.

In the middle of Secrets of the Darkest Art there were a few colour photos and they were enough to have the book on the other side of the room in seconds as he clutched the other one like a talisman.

He couldn't face that. He couldn't _defeat_ that. The kind of mind that … no. The prophecy was bullshit and that was all there was to it. Someone had to get rid of the Dark Lord. The world and the people in it could not afford to wait until Daniel or Potter had it in them to not only face up to that horror, but to defeat it.

Daniel stood up. The knowledge required to defeat the Dark Lord was that he had a Horcrux and probably killed a child for it. Or was brought up in a Muggle orphanage himself. The best use of that knowledge was to give it to someone capable of taking the next step. Snape, he supposed. Or whoever was in the Order of the Phoenix. McGonagall, if she'd believe a word he told her. The Ministry, if they weren't such a pack of ridiculous bowler-wearing boffins.

Dumbledore, he'd bet his wand, knew it already.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"To split an untouched soul is, by necessity, to inflict untold agony on the bearer."

The pictures flashed in front of Daniel's eyes. The test subjects. Victims really, but the clinical Queen's English echoing in his head made Daniel feel he was reading a textbook.

"The soul fragments are stable and in harmony with each other; magical traces cannot be wholly extinguished but instead seek out their other halves. All such souls yearn to be completed."

Sirius changed into Padfoot, and back again. The lost look on the man's face perfectly matched the plaintive silver eyes in the dog. Straight after the change there was always a trace of hope for the future, but it faded before it had a chance to catch hold.

"The more stable Horcrux is that created by splitting a treated soul. The soul's fundamental energy has been altered and therefore the pieces seek unity only briefly before developing external resistance and their own original stamp."

The pictures, again. Dead-eyed children, a multitude of bodies drawn in a permanent state of convulsion. Whenever their eyes were showing, they were empty.

Treated souls.

Daniel realised by now he was dreaming. He realised it was a nightmare, for that matter. But he wasn't anywhere … it was a slideshow, not a place he could wake up from. If he woke, there was nothing to stop the slideshow from continuing.

He woke up with a start and only just managed to get his head out of his curtains before throwing up. Then he just drooped. Every inch of blood in his body found its way to the top of his head and pulled it down closer to the floor. If he'd had the energy he'd find his wand and get rid of the mess. But if he started to move he would start to think. The world would be real.

"_Evanesco_."

That sounded like Crabbe, but he didn't say anything else. There was just the sound of some curtains closing and the room was silent again. After about ten minutes Daniel had the strength to pull himself onto the bed properly. Five minutes after that he took out his wand and his old letters from Sirius. The present sucked, the future would suck more so he lost himself in the past to and tried not to think about anything that would start him screaming.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape mentally squared off his seventh years in the most volatile combinations he could manage. Let their dramas unfold and occupy the lot of them without Snape needing to work for it. He would take points for flaws in duelling technique, award them for victory and otherwise be at leisure.

He began with Damon Muir and Jo Chalmers, the two alpha males of the room who had a considerable history of antagonism between them. Chalmers was the more creative of the two but Muir had doubtless been in constant practice over the summer.

Chalmers was also, along with Elizabeth McBurney, on the shortlist to join the Dark Lord's service as soon as they were out of school if not before.

Yates counted them in and stepped aside, casting the insulation spell with studied diligence.

No sidestepping or slow assessing went on between the two combatants. Chalmers bellowed, "Stupefy!" while casting a silent Blinding Curse. Muir met the ray with a textbook Impediment Jinx and threw up a Delaying Charm, his face a picture of grim concentration.

The duel was five frenzied minutes of light and noise. Muir was rarely fooled by Chalmers' misdirection but the sheer strength of his spells had the Head Boy on the back foot for the most part. Once Muir stumbled deflecting a solid Expelliarmus Chalmers lashed in with his patented combination of Calimens, Vereo, Lumico and Stupefy following so closely after each other that the combination was very nearly a spell of its own.

Muir's last gasp was a haphazard Expelliarmus of his own. Chalmers held on to his wand with the tips of his fingers and just managed to complete the spell loop. Muir fell and the Slytherins cheered. Chalmers smiled with moderate humility and woke his opponent, giving him a hand up.

Muir clapped him on the shoulder with a grudging nod. Chalmers surprised everyone by squeezing Muir around the shoulders and leaning in to whisper at his ear.

The dark, almost Spanish-looking Muir tensed and his eyes shot to Snape. Chalmers, all tousled strawberry blond hair, ruddy cheeks and an extra half a foot of height, grinned a schoolboy's grin and patted him on the cheek. He glowed where Muir fumed.

"Ten points to Slytherin," Snape said. "Five to Hufflepuff."

The two of them walked back to their seats. Muir spoke directly to Chalmers, no trace of grandstanding in his tone or his bearing. "If you call me a Mudblood again you'll regret it."

Chalmers shrugged and took his seat. "If you say so."

"Frost," Snape said. "Frobisher. Julian Frobisher. Bell, officiate."

"But sir," Frobisher protested. "She might hurt me."

"Might?" Frost asked, standing eagerly. "I absolutely intend to."

"Can't I duel Rowlings?" Frobisher whined. "Or Chang? I've got a chance against them."

"Frobisher," Snape said. "Up."

He dragged himself to his feet. "Vicky, you'll avenge my death won't you?"

His sister studiously ignored him.

"Oh, come on. Frost laces every spell with _pain_. I'm a delicate flower."

"Now, Frobisher, or I will take points."

Bell counted them in. Frobisher ducked and dodged three heavy stunning spells and when Frost took a breath he took the stage.

"_Effagoctusontinerself_!" he incanted with theatrical projection.

Frost cast her next curse three feet to his left. Frobisher grasped his side and groaned in pain, throwing out his wand and hissing, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Frost raised a wide-range shield then pointed her wand at Frobisher himself. "_Finite_," she snapped.

Frobisher barely flicked his wand to vanish from sight.

Frost played fast and loose with stunning spells, all aimed at something completely invisible. The triumphant look on her face was stripped abruptly as her wand was snatched out of her hand in the middle of an incantation. Frobisher appeared next to her, twirling a wand in each hand.

"_Finite_," he said.

Tables were pounded and there were whoops from various seats in front of Snape. Frobisher bowed fluidly and presented Frost's wand back to her. "My apologies, fair lady."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Effagoctusontinerself?"

"My gift to wizardkind," Frobisher said proudly. "I'll teach it to you, if you like."

"Ten points to Slytherin," Snape said.

"He didn't even use any defensive spells," Carmichael protested.

"Any spell is a defensive spell if you use it for defence, you blithering idiot," Frobisher sneered. It was enough of a break from his excessively affable self to have everyone in the room look at him in surprise. He shrugged. "Well, it is. And he is."

It might take more than a week's worth of duelling to bring all the undercurrents to the surface. Snape would subject himself to tiresome adolescent spats all year if it meant he could keep his eye on the adult animosity as it developed. If they were forced to keep their troubles pent up in class there was more chance of serious harm being caused to not only them but those around them when they were finally released.

"Quark," he said. "Page. Montague, officiate."

Daniel didn't hear a single word of McGonagall's lecture. He only noticed it had ended once his arm got sore from Terry poking it all the time.

"We're meant to be pairing up," Terry muttered when Daniel finally pulled his arm away in irritation. "Did you do the reading?"

"What? No. I mean, yes."

Terry raised his eyebrows and waited.

Daniel really, really tried to pull his brain back into class. He hadn't been able to sleep at all last night, or this morning. It was barely two in the afternoon and he was all but collapsing where he sat. "What was it on?"

Terry sighed. "Animate cores."

Daniel vaguely remembered looking at the reading as a possible distraction to thinking about the real world last night. He'd decided it wasn't worth the bother. Instead, he'd lain on his back and thought fiercely of nothing for hour after hour. He felt himself doing the same right then. Either that or falling asleep.

He shook himself free from it with a pointed effort. "What was —"

He shut up as McGonagall marched over to them looking starchy and disapproving like usual.

"Mr. Boot, Mr. Livingstone," she said. "How are you getting along?"

"Fine," Daniel said. "We've been friends for years."

Her face pinched itself up and she tapped a finger briskly on Daniel's closed textbook. "Get to it, then."

Daniel wondered how much agony she would be in if her soul was split. It would probably snap her in half like she was an old twig. Which she was.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Livingstone?"

Daniel looked up at her and realised he'd been glaring. She wasn't picking on him any more. She looked attentive and professional.

He might as well ask. "What's the difference between a core and a soul?" he asked casually.

She was instantly suspicious. Of course she was.

"That distinction is beyond the parameters of this class, Mr. Livingstone," she said abruptly.

That was all Daniel needed. They weren't the same thing, not precisely.

She tapped his book again. "To work."

Daniel breathed a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Of course a core wasn't the same thing as a soul. After all, there were such things as inanimate cores. Presumably stuff that didn't live didn't have souls. It was obvious, now he thought of it.

So the dead look that had floated in front of his eyes for the last twelve hours hadn't found its way into Sirius's eyes because spending time as a dog had fragmented his soul. It was all down to Azkaban. Dementors, snacking on souls. Sirius had resisted it by shifting his form, and his mind. Dementors ate souls, and they hadn't fed on him when he was a dog. Was it a change in his soul, or just his mind? His core had stayed human, but something about it had made him unappetising to the Dementors.

"Mr. Livingstone, if you do not wish to be in this class then you should not be here."

He should probably stop forgetting there were other people in the room. It was his only class for the day, he might as well pretend to do it correctly.

"Sorry," he said. She nodded and moved off.

"Are you on something?" Terry asked out of the side of his mouth.

Daniel shook his head.

"Well we have to make a list of what principles do and don't apply to animate cores and then inanimate. By the end of the hour."

Ugh. "You can do all that, right? I'll check it over when you're done."

McGonagall was an Animagus. She'd probably be able to explain it to him. All he had to do was find a way of asking that was polite, innocent and respectful. Daniel's vision blurred as he thought.

McGonagall's voice leapt out at him after a while. Daniel nearly jumped out of his seat when he heard what she was talking about.

"The Animagus transformation requires a great deal of competence when dealing with the animate core, yes," McGonagall said. Daniel's head jerked itself around to see who she was talking to.

Potter and Weasley. Of course. She was full of fun facts for her beloved Gryffindors. They didn't have to justify every single one of their questions. Life was good in red and gold.

"However, there are significant differences that must be taken into account. Not only is a wizard's core more complex than a Muggle's or an animal's, to transfigure in connection with one's own core is a task fraught with danger."

Daniel only needed one glance at Potter's face to know what he was thinking about. Who he was thinking about.

Funny, that Potter had never asked Sirius that kind question himself. He'd never asked to be taught? Daniel doubted Potter was calculating enough to ask the question in class to misdirect the rest of them. He really didn't know.

Daniel tried to imagine Sirius teaching Potter the same things he'd taught Daniel. Sharing the same jokes. Telling him about James Potter and all the pranks they'd played. Probably a whole lot more about the ones they'd played on Snape. Gryffindor secrets and jolly japes. The brotherhood.

Daniel had given that to Potter. It was thanks to Daniel that it hurt Potter now to think of Sirius. Potter wouldn't be able to just think of him as that guy he'd met one evening but who'd had his soul sucked out by a Dementor a few hours later. He wasn't another shadowy figure from Potter's past; he was a flesh and blood person. Sirius hadn't talked much about Potter, but it was obvious to Daniel they'd been close.

Daniel had _given _Potter that. He'd given him time with Sirius, a chance at a family, and the stupid prick had just thrown him away. Like he'd owned him, to drag him out to the Ministry on a wild goose chase like his only purpose was to follow Potters about the place. Their loyal hound, with no life of his own. Giving up his life to serve his master.

"You taking over for Malfoy?"

Daniel looked next to him in surprise. Terry was working on one side and Seamus had come to sit next to him on the other.

"Huh?"

"What's Harry ever done to you?" Seamus asked.

"Don't even start," Daniel said. His voice was cold and hard, but then it wavered.

"Hey," Seamus said, reaching out to his shoulder. "Hey, man up."

Daniel swayed away from his hand. He had to get out of there, fast. Damned if he was going to have a meltdown in McGonagall's class of all places. He was about to get to his feet when Terry grabbed his arm.

"I'm done," he said. "Can you check it over?"

Daniel turned away from Seamus to look at the neat list Terry had made.

The words were too fucking familiar. Terry's handwriting was blocky and mechanical where Sirius's had been some unholy blend of cursive and abstract art, but the words were the same and he couldn't read them without remembering.

He didn't have anything left in him to push the memories back.

He put his head down on the table and practised breathing.

"Hey," Terry whispered by his ear. "I'll say you're sick, if you want."

Daniel would have agreed to it, but if he moved he was going to start blubbering. There was a swelling behind his eyes and his throat was starting to burn. He breathed. In, and out, and in, and out. Given five or so hours he'd be able to pull himself together.

"Get McGonagall," Terry hissed over Daniel's head. Daniel brought his arms up to cover his head. They made it more uncomfortably hot, but at least they hid him. He could wait right where he was until everyone was gone. He wouldn't be in anyone's way.

There wasn't even anything to think. Whatever crap went on with Dementors and souls and Animagus cores was hardly the point. The point was that Sirius was dead and gone and the sight of Potter made Daniel sick to his stomach. And the poor dear bereaved Gryffindor boy was in both his classes.

"C'mon, Daniel," Seamus said from somewhere over his head. "We're okay to leave."

Where exactly did he think there was to go? "Mmfg." If the world could just fall away, that would be great. No way he was showing his face here.

There was whispering somewhere and a hand on his shoulder.

It really didn't help. Right now, the person he wanted to talk to wasn't in the same dimension as the rest of them. Parts of his soul might still be hanging around in Azkaban or as Dementors or whatever but Potter had seen to the rest of him. Daniel had saved him, Potter had killed him.

It wasn't even slightly fair. And saying that out loud would have had Sirius instantly calling him a hypocritical pseudo-Hufflepuff and piling on a few dozen more insults before Daniel could think of anything to say to defend himself. Pointing out that, you know, Potter hadn't wanted Sirius to die any more than Daniel had.

"He's not made out of Flemish crystal, you know," Draco said disdainfully. "Millicent, the other side."

Daniel was hauled up by both arms at once. He didn't put any energy into anything. Millicent could probably lift him by his ankles with only a little help from Draco. They dragged him out and let him sag against a wall just outside. Millicent walked right back into the classroom. "He's fine," she announced, and closed the door behind her.

"I'm going to cry," Daniel said thickly. "Go away."

Draco hesitated. "At least go into a room," he said. "I don't recommend crying alone in corridors."

"Help me up, then."

Draco pulled him to his feet and shoved him towards a door. "You'll go mad," he said when Daniel put his hand on the doorknob. "Going on like this."

Daniel leaned on the door to push it open.

"Find someone," Draco said firmly. "And talk to them. Or I'll be going to Snape."

"Go to Snape all you like," Daniel said. "He's not going to do anything."

Draco stepped quickly towards him. "Then I will. Go on, cry." He pushed Daniel into the classroom and shut the door.

All the unused classrooms in Hogwarts were the same. Big wooden desk at the front, student desks in practical arrangements, a couple of big windows, a faint smell of musty books. Daniel spun around and flung the door open. He would go mad if he was just left alone to his grief. He wasn't just going to be shut in a spare room by Draco Malfoy.

"Hey," he called just as Draco was about to open the door back into Transfiguration. "What's your stance on Sirius Black?"

Draco turned with a kind of bewildered triumph. "Sirius Black?"

"Yeah."

The frown was small but serious. Draco walked slowly over to Daniel and pulled him back into the classroom. He warded it meticulously and crossed his arms.

"What does Sirius Black have to do with anything?"

This was Draco's chance as far as Daniel was concerned. If he wouldn't unbend for this conversation, Daniel would just count him out. Of everything. He met Draco's eyes and waited.

"Sirius Black was a traitor to his family," Draco said flatly. "He picked the wrong side and now he's paid for it. I didn't know him personally."

Daniel's chest ached. "I did," he said helplessly.

Draco focussed in on Daniel so hard he almost shattered under the scrutiny. Then his face relaxed a little and he nodded. "You did."

Daniel's world whirled. "You knew?"

"No," Draco said. "I just believe you."

"Oh."

Draco looked at him for a while, thoughtfully. "Are you in with the Order?"

That was a dumb question. "I'm not in with anyone."

There was a tiny trace of sympathy on Draco's face, and a kind of pained hope. "You could be."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't mean Death Eaters." Despite the wards, Draco spoke in barely more than a murmur. "I don't mean the Order, either. Look around yourself. Blaise is unaligned. Millicent as well. Theo would side with the Order if he could, but they'll never take him so he's effectively independent as well. Then there's Turpin and Boot. They haven't shown much political involvement. And —"

"Shut up," Daniel said. He sank into the nearest chair. "I don't want to talk about that."

Draco sat a few chairs away. "Were you close to Black?"

"Yes," Daniel snapped. "I fucking well was. That's why I'm upset, see?"

"I — I'd talk to you about it," Draco said. "But when it comes to secrecy, I'm not really in control of what I know. I can't promise —"

"He was my best friend," Daniel said. "I don't care what anyone learns from you. He was my favourite person in the whole world and I don't care who knows it."

Draco sighed. "Odd that you've been keeping it so quiet, then."

"I don't care _now_," Daniel said. "I did before. I thought it would hurt Theo's feelings, and get me in trouble with the Ministry and who knows who else. The Dark Lord himself, I dunno."

"What was he like, then? Your favourite person in the whole world?"

Daniel twisted his fingers together gently. He had no idea what he could say that would do justice to Sirius. He was funny and smart and generous, but that was just a laundry list. "He was free," he began haltingly. "He was wounded and abandoned and had every reason to be bitter but he still laughed. He was just himself, always so honest. He made time for me and I made time for him and — life was so much easier when he was around. I wanted to do right by him. Nobody else had, but — I could have. Once everything else was over, I was going to _make_ them hear his case. And fuck everybody over who put him away. Every last one. Dumbledore, Crouch, Bagnold, Lupin. I didn't care who they were. I was going to make them pay."

The back of his hands were wet with tears. He didn't remember letting his head drop onto his knuckles but there he was, crying into his fists.

"Lupin?" Draco asked quietly.

"Lupin's the worst out of all of them," Daniel said darkly. "_He _was supposed to be Sirius's friend. Did he make a peep when they decided to chuck him in Azkaban without trial? Did he stand by his friend for even _one second_? No, he just faded away and felt sorry for himself."

"I don't see why you'd expect more. He's a Gryffindor, not a Hufflepuff."

"I'm not a Hufflepuff, and I'd do it for you. Hell, I'd stand up for every McBurney in the world if they were going to be thrown to the Dementors like that. It's principle, not loyalty. And anyway, you don't have to be a Hufflepuff to be a decent person."

"And Dumbledore."

Daniel lifted his head. "What?"

"You want to get back at Dumbledore."

"I don't care right now. It was only going to be worth it if Sirius was free and watching."

"Hm."

"Don't 'hm'. If you have something to say, say it."

Draco shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Are you feeling better?"

He wanted to say yes, so the conversation would be over. He wanted to say no, because if Draco thought one tiny little chat was going to fix anything he was seriously mistaken. He felt less nervous and hopeless than before, it was true. But it hadn't made a dint in his misery.

"I miss him," he choked out. "I want to talk to him."

"You should talk to Theo," Draco said. "I think I'll go and get him."

"No," Daniel said quickly. "Don't."

Draco stood up. "Afraid of hurting his feelings?"

Well, yes. Theo was meant to be his best friend. They were meant to be best friends. But when Sirius had been around, Sirius had been better to talk to about the serious things, and it was easier to let off steam with him as well. Daniel hadn't exactly ignored Theo, but now Sirius was gone he was realising how different things had become between him and Theo without him noticing.

"He's sensitive," Daniel ventured. "He might cry."

"Theodore Nott has never cried in his life," Draco declared confidently. "I'm going to find him."


	11. Standpoints

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Theo came in about twenty minutes later. Daniel felt more human by then but was still felt queasy about the conversation coming up. He knew exactly how it was going to go and he didn't want to have it. He hated it when he had to face up to what a selfish bastard he was when it came to Theo.

Theo strolled up with his hands in his pockets and sat right next to Daniel, leaning back and exhaling loudly. "Draco said you needed to talk to me," he said, blue eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Something about explaining why you're so miserable."

"I'm miserable because my friend Sirius Black was killed," Daniel managed. "And I miss him, and I wish he hadn't died but he has."

There was a very long silence. Daniel stared at the empty wall to his right. Theo could have all the time he liked to absorb the news. As revelations went it was a pretty big one.

"Your friend Sirius Black," Theo said flatly. "Your _friend_."

"Died, yeah."

"How can you possibly have been friends with Sirius Black?"

Theo's voice was flat and resigned. Daniel stared at him, bemusement plain on his face. Theo didn't look surprised at all. He was a stoic sort of chap, but this was something else.

Daniel could do stoic. And terse, as well. "I met him in third year while he was stalking Potter. Then we corresponded." Theo stayed quiet. "And then he died," Daniel added, just to make sure Theo was getting the point.

"He was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, you know," Theo said.

"Yeah, I do know," Daniel snapped. "Did you miss the part where I said he was my friend?"

"What the hell do you expect me to say about that?" Theo asked. Some emotion there, finally. "If you want to have secret criminal friends, fine. Just don't expect me to be all understanding when the only reason you tell me about your new best friend is when he's dead and you want my sympathy."

"I never said he was my best friend. And it wasn't my idea to tell you like this, was it? It's Draco —"

Theo narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. "Oh, come on," he said scornfully. "You were perfectly happy for him to play messenger. If you weren't, you'd have talked him out of it."

"You don't —"

"And Draco told me you called him your best friend, so don't go saying anything different now."

Fucking Draco.

"He's _dead_," Daniel cried. "Sorry for mixing up my terminology, but I'm not actually thinking _logically_ right now."

"Well, you should be," Theo said. "Life doesn't stop being a shithole just because you can't cope with it."

"Just because you think the world's gone cold doesn't mean you have to go cold along with it." Daniel retorted, failing to push back the anger that was creeping up on him.

"You bastard." Theo sounded physically ill. "I am doing every damn thing I can to stay on the right path. To make opportunities for other people to do the right thing. If making a serious effort to be good is the same thing as 'going cold' for you, I hope you fucking freeze."

Daniel buried his face in his hands and swore. If only he could just 'do good' and be satisfied with that. He wanted to team up with Theo, he really did. But he just … couldn't.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He said it as soon as he thought of it, lifting his head slowly. It was the only thing that might salvage the situation. "But he was a convicted criminal and everyone thought he was trying to murder Potter, and Snape and Dumbledore could both see into my brain and they'd be able to look into yours and anyone's. I couldn't let him be caught. Not for anything."

Theo smiled sadly. "You thought I might turn him in, too."

Their eyes met properly for the first time that afternoon. Theo didn't look angry, especially. He looked glum. Daniel could see the distance between the two of them widening before his eyes.

"Maybe," he allowed. "I didn't want to take the risk."

"He was in the Order of the Phoenix," Theo said again.

Daniel might as well hear him out. It wasn't like he wanted to go back to class or anything. "And?"

"There are plenty of people in Slytherin who'd be a member of that if it'd take them."

Daniel bit back the automatic 'that's nice' that sprang to his lips. He shrugged instead.

"There's a group of us right now," Theo added meaningfully.

Daniel stared at nothing in particular.

"I don't suppose you'd join us."

"You know I won't."

Theo sighed. "Why not?" His voice was so strained Daniel cleared his throat in involuntary sympathy.

Daniel didn't even feel bad about lying to Theo in this case. He just had to, and that was that. The question was, what lie was there to tell?

"I don't want to take a side," he said. "In the middle you can still reach out to anyone."

"Everyone knows what side you're on," Theo said. "Believe me."

"They don't," Daniel corrected him. "They knew what side I was on. When they thought I was Muggleborn. Now I could still —"

"Anyone who knows you knows what side you're on," Theo interrupted. "You walk away from it and you won't have any backing anywhere."

"I didn't want to talk politics with Draco," Daniel said. "I don't want to talk politics with you. I'm not going to get into politics to _honour_ Sirius's memory and I don't want you to even hint at it again. You have no idea about Sirius and politics."

"I have no idea about Sirius at all," Theo reminded him.

That was not a topic they were going to talk about. Not if Theo was going to be so wretched about it. "What are you going to call your resistance group then?"

"We're not a resistance group exactly," Theo said automatically. "We're support for each other, and for the Muggleborn. I thought you didn't want to talk about politics."

Daniel stood up. The room didn't even spin. "Fine," he said. "I'll go back to class."

Theo didn't speak or move until Daniel had reached the door. "I'm sorry your friend died."

Daniel knew he should turn around. Acknowledge the sentiment. But if they were going to go different ways, it might as well be now. He nearly said 'me too', but that would be way too harsh. "Yeah." He closed the door quietly behind him.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Livingstone was at dinner, looking tense but unharmed. Snape himself had barely made it through the day. At this rate he was unlikely to make it to Christmas without cursing at least half of his students. It was supposed to be easier to teach subjects involving wandwork; the students were more enthusiastic and could let more of their instincts guide them. What was rarely mentioned was the greater capacity for unruliness this engendered. His afternoon had been four hours of third and fourth years who by and large considered themselves experts in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

It had been moderately enjoyable disabusing them of that notion, but he saw the novelty wearing off very quickly in the future.

"Severus," McGonagall said from beside him.

Snape schooled his expression and turned to her. "Yes, Minerva?"

"I want to commend you for the behaviour of your students today. I had all but the fourth years and by and large their behaviour was admirable under the circumstances. Your first years especially have been delightful."

Snape waited for the 'by and large' to be explained.

"However," she said, "I have just come from teaching the seventh years and Joseph Chalmers has received a week's detention and lost fifty points from Slytherin for disobedience and loathsome slurs. This is unacceptable behaviour for any student. Considering his position as prefect it is barely fathomable."

"I will speak to him," Snape said. "Anything else?"

She hesitated. "Mr. Livingstone had to be escorted out of class this afternoon. He was either unwell or emotionally distraught. I understand his unusual circumstances have led to you assuming the role of de facto guardian."

"He appears well," Snape said, gesturing to the Slytherin table. Livingstone was speaking earnestly to Astoria Greengrass, sitting well away from his own year level.

"He returned towards the end of class to collect his possessions and looked considerably recovered," McGonagall allowed. "These are hard times, Severus, and some students will need —"

"I do not need to be told how to manage my house," Snape cut in, distinctly annoyed. Did the woman think he was acting at random, with no regard to the wellbeing of his students? Much more of this and he would begin to dispense some advice of his own.

"Your house, no," McGonagall said gently. "The students within —"

Snape stood. "Thank you, Minerva," he snapped. "Perhaps you could restrict your recommendations to subjects with which you have more than a passing acquaintance. I will speak to Mr. Chalmers. Good evening."

He swept past the rest of the staff. Dumbledore was not there again, a vacancy that the students would not have failed to observe.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Over the next couple of days Daniel learned a lot of things. He learned that having swags of free time wasn't half as useful in practice as it was in theory. He learned that officially not being very close friends with Theo was a lot like officially being close friends but forgetting to do the 'friends' part. With the loss of Muggle Studies they weren't even in any of each other's classes. He learned that Snape was a frighteningly good Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and that having every house together in the Defence class made for a much more entertaining classroom. He learned that Jo Chalmers wasn't half as frightening as either of his sisters, but he still incredibly dangerous and could only be talked out of making trouble by Millicent or Frobisher. He learned that Astoria was determined to join Theo's band of subversives, and so were Urquhart and Vaisey, Urquhart's sister Orion, Robert Derrick, Jacqui Savant and her first-year brother Matt. He learned that Potter was now almost as obsessed with Draco as Draco had been with Potter for the last five years, even going so far as to follow him out of the hall from time to time.

Most disturbingly, he learned that Elizabeth McBurney was going out with Crabbe and had been since late last year. He still followed Draco around dutifully but that's what it seemed like now. A duty, where before it had been the natural thing to do.

Draco had suffered a fall when his father had been arrested. Some kind of baton had been dropped, and the McBurneys had been the first to grab at it. Draco never accused Crabbe of any kind of betrayal, but there was a coldness in his eyes every time Crabbe held McBurney's hand, had friendly conversations with her brother Bronson or even when he simply smiled at their little sister Laura. Uppity kids from third and fourth years took snide jabs at Draco when they could, and Chalmers encouraged them in it.

Goyle stuck by Draco with unassuming steadiness while Pansy defended him so fiercely it was almost embarrassing to witness. Draco kept his head up and went about his business with perfect unconcern, treating everyone he came across with calm dignity and courtesy.

It was the kind of poise Daniel could only dream of having. He felt ridiculous sometimes, surrounded by people who knew so absolutely what they were doing. Theo and his people had their mission, Draco's followers were singleminded in theirs, Blaise and Daphne were always working at something together and Millicent rebuffed everyone with the same pointed indifference. Daniel could have joined them, or at least tried. But he couldn't bring himself to. Independent and lonely seemed a better bet than chasing after friendship and then getting trapped in it. Or getting other people trapped in with him.

Nope. The key was to stay under the radar and that's what he was going to do.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Paul Quirke and Brian Freelander stayed behind as the rest of the second-year Slytherins piled out of the room, scurrying past the waiting sixth years to their dubious freedom. Victoria Smith was last out and closed the door rather pointedly behind her.

"Malfoy's been taking points from Slytherin all the time," Freelander complained immediately. "None of the other prefects will call him off, even Chalmers."

"It's not even for breaking any rules," Quirke added, his voice a shrill whine. "He just walks up to you and waves his wand, then takes points. That's not allowed, is it sir?"

"If you have a complaint about the conduct of a prefect, you will need to arrange a meeting with me outside of class hours," Snape said. "You know this."

"It is outside of class hours," Quirke protested. "It's five o'clock."

"Out," Snape said.

Quirke took half a step back before turning on his heel and trying not to look like he was hurrying out. Freelander rolled his eyes, apparently thinking he would be able to bond with Snape through disdain. Unfortunately for him, Snape's long-cultivated disdain was never going to be matched by that of a petulant twelve-year-old.

Freelander was quick enough on the uptake to realise this and amended his expression. "Can I come talk to you this evening then, sir?" he asked.

"Eight o'clock," Snape said.

Freelander caught up to Quirke before he was through the door. As soon as they were gone the next group of students came in looking as dead-eyed and bone-tired as they had the previous day.

Two hours of Transfiguration, two of Charms, two of Defence. Theirs was not a happy timetable.

Snape's eyes naturally found Malfoy first. He thought it unlikely that the boy would be abusing his privileges so soon after the conversation he'd had with Snape, especially with his own position so precarious. There would be more to the story and Snape would give it time to develop.

It was still odd to see Livingstone in a class without Nott. Yesterday he had sat himself down defiantly between Finnigan and Thomas and silently dared any of the Gryffindors around him to object. Today he just sat down first out of anyone and let the class arrange itself around him. He ended up with Zabini on one side and Abbott on the other. Abbott gave him a brief smile and kept chatting to the Hufflepuffs on her other side, but Zabini was still and watchful.

Snape knew the behaviour he was seeing; it had been the same in their first class the day before. Zabini thought Livingstone needed a bodyguard. And he thought so in class, under Snape's own eye. He was being remarkably subtle in his manoeuvres; Snape doubted any of the students had noticed the protective behaviour. But it was there and would have to be dealt with.

Snape stood and the low murmurs fell silent.

"There will be half an hour's practising silent spells at the end of the lesson," he affirmed. "First I will be determining how many of you have not only read but understood the difference between Declinalio and Clauserus when used to defend against curses whose effects are not explicitly known."

The only students who made confident eye contact were Granger, Bones and Corner. "Thomas," Snape said. All the Gryffindors glowered at him and so he changed his question from a simple one about Latin translation to one for which there was no concise, comprehensive answer. He'd see what the boy could do. "What is the minimum information required in order to safely choose Declinalio over Clauserus?"

Thomas frowned as his expression turned distant. "Well, you have to know that the curse is an aimed one," he said. "And then you have to be in a situation where a rebound wouldn't put you or anyone important in danger. Or it couldn't hit anything that would be dangerous later."

He stopped, hopeful that an exhibition of simple common sense would be enough to satisfy Snape.

It wasn't. "Information about the curse, Thomas. A competent first-year would be able to tell me as much as you have. Unless I am much mistaken, you are considerably older than this and, one would hope, wiser."

"Well, if the curse isn't incanted," he glanced up at Snape, who nodded in confirmation, "then if you've got a sharp wand movement —" Patil hissed something in his ear "— I mean, disconnected casting points, then your odds are that it's a beam curse not a local curse so you've a chance of deflecting it." Snape gave no indication that this was enough of an answer.

"Minimum required information," Finnigan murmured, glancing up at the ceiling.

Thomas blinked and nodded. "You have to be certain that the surroundings won't risk backfiring on you, and to be safe you have to recognise that the shape of the curse isn't anything else but a beam curse."

Snape nodded. "A simplistic answer, yet true in essentials. Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley, for talking in class. No Mr. Finnigan, I am not joking."

The first hour and a half passed agonisingly slowly after it became clear that less than half the class had a sufficient understanding of the reading they were supposed to have done after yesterday's class and Snape would have to explain it to them himself. When Snape announced the beginning of the practical part of the lesson the whole room sagged in relief.

He let them divide themselves into groups of three and observed the utter predictability with which they had done it. They all set to promptly, waving their wands with varying degrees of confidence and silence.

Malfoy wasn't even pretending to pay attention, Snape noticed. He stood at the side of the room, striking a pose that would have been nonchalant were it not so strikingly affected. Crabbe and Goyle were at least putting some effort into their attempts at silent hexes.

Potter, Granger and Weasley were the other disastrous trio, with Potter and Weasley utterly incapable of the advanced magic, and Granger lording it over the both of them, supercilious as ever.

"Mr. Corner," Snape said. "I suggest you restrict your use of the Tarantallegra jinx to those you are assigned to combat. I doubt Miss Brocklehurst would appreciate it if you were to succeed."

Corner scowled as his partners and Brocklehurst's turned to stare at him, then exchanged glances between each other.

"_Ooooo_," the Patil girls said softly, making Corner go red.

"Don't be —"

"Ten points from Ravenclaw, five from Gryffindor," Snape announced. "Silence." He looked over to the other Gryffindors hopefully, but they weren't breaking any rules he could think of.

"Mr. McMillan," he said instead. "Unless you are attempting to disarm the entire class, you will need to narrow your arc. Focus more tightly."

McMillan nodded briskly and tried again. Bones managed to hold on to her wand, but only barely. Snape gave the Hufflepuff boy an approving nod and moved to the next group.

Longbottom waved his wand desperately at Finnigan, who went through the motions of a block even though Longbottom hadn't produced even a whit of magic. He was about to deliver a withering comment for each of them when someone cried out on the other side of the room.

"Yah!" Livingstone shouted, slashing his wand firmly at Boot, who took a sudden step back and completely failed to block the Palpauris hex sent at him. He diligently tried to end it without speaking, but shook his head in frustration when his ears kept twitching, entirely out of his control.

"Again, Mr. Livingstone, you seem to be having difficulty with your listening comprehension," Snape said.

"You said not to use incantations," Livingstone said quickly. "I didn't _incant_ a thing."

"I gave an order for silence," Snape said. "I expect to see it upheld. Remove the hex, _in silence_."

Livingstone waved his wand desultorily at his Ravenclaw friend, and the hex was lifted.

"Ten points to Slytherin," Snape said, and moved on to Bulstrode, who looked to be on the verge of exploding from internal pressure. As he advised her on her technique he took the opportunity to lift his eyes to meet those of her opponent.

Zabini did not look away quickly enough and had little to no training in Occlumency.

A white-robed barefoot figure was walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, partially obscured by swirling mist. It took Snape a moment to recognise himself; he looked younger, more tranquil than he could remember ever having been. His younger self was waving one arm about, batting at the mist as it thickened around him.

A moment later the figure was outside Dumbledore's office but instead of gargoyles there was a simple wooden cross covering the door. The white-clad Snape lifted his hand again as the mist began to clear. Now Snape could see the white flower — the white _lily_ — his young self had been holding. He raised his hand against the cross and the flower became a dagger as it was thrust into the central wood of the cross.

Then he turned to walk back away from the office as nails grew up from the floor before him and faded away once he had walked over them. His blood spread out faster than physically possible and with a volume far beyond that which his body could contain. Shadowy figures started to appear in the hallways; students, for the most part, going about their business in the school. Every so often one would slip on the thick red blood, but none of them fell.

The whole scene vanished, the world tilted slightly and then Snape's view was redirected towards Daphne Greengrass, waiting patiently on the other side of the crystal ball.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel wandered over to Ravenclaw at dinner on Thursday. Terry had been really good in Transfiguration, so it was worth trying. Also, Lisa had to have nearly forgiven Daniel for the Millicent thing by now.

"Hey yo," he said, interrupting what he was sure was an academically-fascinating argument between Goldstein and Corner.

"Hi," Goldstein said, making sure he was taking up all the room at his spot on the bench. "I think you found the wrong table."

"I think you found the wrong attitude," Daniel said, graciously taking the spot Terry cleared for him. " 'We must unite inside her,' remember?"

"Leave your twisted sex life out of this," Corner said, flicking mashed potato at Daniel's hand.

"Ha," Daniel said, and flicked it back. "I mean the Sorting Hat, pervert."

"Wow," Corner said in a mock hushed voice. "That's quite a —"

"So," Terry said loudly. "What do you make of Snape teaching defence?"

"He knows what he's about," Daniel said. He didn't know what he'd been so worried about. Conversation was easy.

"That's for sure," Corner muttered with a sidelong glance at the staff table. Snape wasn't there. "Knows it a bit too well, if you ask me."

Daniel smiled widely. "I didn't, actually."

"I don't know what Dumbledore's playing at, appointing him this year of all years," Terry said, frowning. "I can't work out if he's making some kind of statement or if Snape finally browbeat him into it."

"Well he's a better teacher than any we've had yet, so I'm all for it," Daniel said. He didn't really want to talk about Snape. "So Corner, I hear Weasley dumped you for being a sore loser."

Goldstein started to laugh but stopped quickly. Corner just shrugged. "She's full of herself," Corner said. "Wouldn't stop talking about winning the Quidditch Cup, and got pissy whenever I had an opinion of my own. I mean, that foul on Cho was _clearly _there, but when I pointed it out she got all offended and said I was being a bad sport."

"Well, you were," Terry pointed out. "You kept saying Gryffindor didn't deserve to win."

"She caught the snitch from a foul," Corner insisted. "And she wouldn't admit it. _She's_ the bad _winner_."

"Maybe Cho will be able to teach you to lose with good grace," Goldstein said, pursing his lips playfully.

"Where is Cho?" Terry asked, looking around. "She was going to read over my Charms."

Everyone looked at Corner. Daniel had no idea how such an obnoxious prat was pulling drop-dead gorgeous Quidditch player after drop-dead gorgeous Quidditch player. He wasn't even particularly handsome. Just opinionated and quick-witted and disgustingly self-confident.

"I haven't memorised her timetable," Corner said. "I'm not twelve."

"Oh!" Terry said. "That reminds me. Daniel, are you going out with Greengrass yet?"

Daniel looked at him suspiciously. It was a running joke, but he didn't look like Terry was messing about. "She's taken," he said.

Terry gave him a dubious look. "With that little limpet bloke?"

Limpet bloke … oh. "Astoria," Daniel said, feeling stupid. "You mean Astoria."

"She's pretty," Corner said, glancing across at the Slytherin table. Astoria was sitting next to Vaisey, laughing and shaking her head. "A bit young, though."

"I'm not going out with her," Daniel told Terry. "And I don't think I will be any time soon. You with Brocklehurst yet?"

"I'm working on it," Terry said seriously.

"_Padma_," Corner said, exasperated. "I'm telling you, she's crazy about you."

"Yates is keen on her though," Terry said.

Daniel started to get bored.

"Forget Yates," Goldstein said. "He's deadly boring."

"She barely notices him," Corner agreed.

Daniel was definitely bored. "What's the new Potions guy like?"

"He's okay," Goldstein said with a dismissive shrug.

"It's just not Potions without Snape breathing down your neck," Terry said. "At one point yesterday I caught myself actually having fun."

"Yeah, Sluggy's a laugh," Corner added. "Deadly namedropper, too. How's Gwenog Jones, Barney Cuffe andEldred Worple in the _same sentence_?"

"What's the bet fifty years from now he's telling a bunch of first-years how he brought out the potion-making genius in Harry Potter?" Terry laughed. "That name'll trump them all."

"Malfoy gets —" Corner started, then snapped his mouth shut with a wary look at Daniel, and around to see if anyone had been listening.

Daniel held in his sigh. "Malfoy gets what?" he asked casually.

"Annoyed," Corner mumbled, and reached for more shepherd's pie.

"You scared of him now?" Daniel asked. All three Ravenclaw boys looked down at the table. "Scared of Draco Mal—"

"Shut up," Goldstein snapped. "For God's sake, shut up."

"That's pathetic," Daniel said. "I don't know if any of you noticed, but the Death Eaters _lost _that fight at the Ministry. Draco's not backed by his father any more —"

"Shut up," Terry said. "If you want to talk about that stuff, do it at your own table."

"No wonder the world fell to him so bloody quickly last time," Daniel said, getting up. "All you have to do is mention the son of an imprisoned supporter of his and the good guys wet their pants."

"You don't know what it was like," Corner said harshly.

"Neither do you."

"My _parents_ do, you selfish prick," the Ravenclaw boy said, face darkening. "My uncle and cousins died in that war, and my mother still walks with a limp. She —"

"Shh," Goldstein said, squeezing his shoulder. "Not his fault."

Daniel looked at Terry, but his friend looked away.

"Sorry," he said, and slouched back to the Slytherin table, where there was absolutely no problem getting someone to move across for him. He was getting more space at that table with every passing day. He ate quickly, not really tasting anything but making sure he ate enough of the right things. When he didn't eat he couldn't think, and that was the last situation he needed to find himself in at a time like this.

He walked past Theo and his conspirators. Astoria smiled at him and Daniel smiled back but the last thing he wanted was to be caught in conversation. He leaned down to speak softly in Theo's ear. "Snape thinks it would be a shame to let the Muggle Studies classes slide. Think about it."

Then he went straight out of the hall and to the library. He should be able to fit in an hour or so looking into magical repair before his Occlumency session.


	12. From Sight to Mind

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long between chapters; I've just started uni again and I suppose got lazy with other things. Special thanks to bookivore, whose review was the impetus I needed to get this going again. I will try to be more consistent with update frequency, but no promises.**

**Enjoy! **

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Bronson McBurney was not a handsome child. He was the kind of boy whose unpleasantness ran so deep it permeated every movement he made, every nuance of his expression.

"I have had reports from other teachers that your behaviour has been distasteful, especially to younger students for whom you should be setting an example of appropriate behaviour," Snape invented. "I have been asked to speak to you."

McBurney nodded wearily, eyes fixed at a point on the wall past Snape's head. "I suppose you have to, then," he said. "Keep up appearances. What do I have to do?"

Even if Snape hadbeen a genuine Death Eater an attitude like that was hardly going to help the boy's cause. "Stop treating this school as though you already own it," Snape said harshly. "It benefits nobody to have you and your allies making such blatant attempts at intimidation."

"But sir," protested McBurney. "Elizabeth says that if we don't show them who's boss now, they'll be able to —"

"Silence," Snape snapped. "Your sister, though talented in some areas, is not privy to all the information she would require to make such a judgement. My instructions, such as they are, are not predicated on a desire for outright war inside the walls of Hogwarts at this time!"

McBurney looked suitably chastened and a little confused. "Yes, sir."

"My greatest disappointment is in your attitude to those in Slytherin who may disagree with you," Snape continued, sensing that now, if ever, was the time to shift this boy's perception.

McBurney's dark eyes widened in surprise, and locked onto Snape's. "You mean Nott and his crowd? Livingstone?" he said. "I can't just —"

"You can and will do what is necessary," Snape cut in. He dipped into the boy's thoughts, only briefly, and the depth of hatred he discovered for Livingstone was enough to give him second thoughts about his next words. "Mr. Livingstone, though of dubious descent, is a Slytherin as much as you are. Whatever objections you can have to his placement, he is your housemate and it is vital you treat him as such regardless of your personal opinion of him."

McBurney's eyes slid away from his. "What, so Mudbloods and blood traitors are okay as long as they're in Slytherin? _Sir_?"

"Use your brain if you will, McBurney. What benefit is achieved by outright hostility towards Mr. Livingstone, Mr. Nott and those inclined to support their ideas? Does it outweigh the damage you do to the fabric of your house?"

"It's _him _doing the damage, sir!" McBurney protested, apparently unable to speak heatedly without making eye contact. That would soon be drilled out of him by one person or another. "Half the older students think Livingstone's all right, and Nott's collected way too many traitors to himself already, and we're just letting them! I'd like to know what benefit we achieve in letting _that_ slide by without a fight. Sir."

McBurney, Snape sensed, would be a formidable Death Eater indeed, if he was allowed to become one. He had plenty of hatred, rational as well as irrational, and enough flexibility of thought to protect him from the self-destruction such feelings often brought on.

"Would you prefer them to be forced into more subversive tactics?" he asked mildly, sifting through the boy's thoughts. "Better they remain together, relatively impotent, so that _when the time comes_, matters are relatively simple. To antagonise such a group encourages your enemies to become their friends, and their friends to become your enemies. You must use your judgement and weigh the importance of a united Slytherin against your short-term goals of power and humiliation."

McBurney swallowed and looked away. Snape decided that in this case, the gain could well be worth the risk.

"Miss Greengrass will not be wooed by an elevation of those qualities she found most distasteful in you," he said. "Nor will those you associate with simply to aggravate her be appreciative when they discover the nature of their usefulness to you."

McBurney gaped. It wasn't a pleasant sight.

Snape softened his voice and leaned forwards. "You must be certain of your motives," he said. "At your age, to be motivated by love is nothing to be ashamed of. To claim that actions motivated by love are intended for a more … political cause, however, is markedly unwise."

The boy just looked confused, now.

"McBurney. You are fourteen years old. If Miss Greengrass is foremost in your mind, that is a situation that needs to be resolved before you set your sights to any greater purpose. Halfhearted service is a danger to you, to your allies, and to your _master._" His stress on the last word was meticulously delivered: not so strong that McBurney would think he intended it, but enough that he should think on that word perhaps longer than he might have otherwise.

The brief insight he received from the bemused glance McBurney sent his way told him he had done enough for the time being.

"Do not be so foolish as to play your hand too early," Snape said, sitting back. "You are no good to anybody as a pariah."

McBurney nodded. He stood up cautiously, as though expecting to be ordered to sit down again. Snape let him go and forced himself through ten fourth-year essays before summoning Greengrass.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Astoria Greengrass disliked Snape. She disliked him intensely and Snape didn't require anything as subtle as Legilimency to fathom her reasons why.

"Sit down," he instructed tersely.

She did, without favouring him with so much as a sidelong glance.

"It has come to my attention that you have joined a student organisation in support of Muggleborn students."

"We're a group of friends, sir. I didn't think that was against any Slytherin rules."

"I am not accusing you of breaking rules, Greengrass. I am merely endeavouring to ascertain whether you understand the consequences of your actions."

"Well, I do," she said flatly. "That's why I do them, you see, sir. Because of the consequences."

"You desire for Slytherin to be split down the middle, then, and in an increasingly vulnerable position when the wizarding world is on the brink of a drastic reshaping?"

Greengrass snorted. "I don't think a reshaping of the wizarding world is going to hurt Slytherin too badly, sir. At least now we have an each-way bet."

It was down to Livingstone, Snape knew. Muggle phrases were starting to filter through to his ears from the boy's closest associates. Snape doubted most of them were aware of it; it was an unfamiliar notion for Slytherin students.

Exotic phrasing aside, Snape hadn't quite expected that kind of argument from Astoria Greengrass, who had always struck him as passionate almost to the point of stupidity. She was learning from Livingstone, perhaps, but more likely from Nott. That boy was becoming quite a leader in his own right.

Things would be a lot faster if the girl would just look him in the eye.

"I have no interest in a divided Slytherin," he told her. "However cynical and jaded you think yourself, be assured I am more so. If I have enough house spirit left in me to fight for the future of Slytherin, then there is no excuse for you to do otherwise. You make no progress by dividing and antagonising your housemates. You turn more against you than you do towards you, and you encourage infighting in _my house_."

Round hazel eyes met his own for the briefest of moments, then settled on his desk.

"If you confront them, you will lose," Snape told her. "It is possible to not follow where others lead without burning all bridges."

Greengrass shrugged.

She was spending _far _too much time with Livingstone.

"Miss Greengrass, I will speak plainly," Snape said, in danger of floundering in the face of her unexpected reticence. "If you continue to antagonise your housemates to such an extent, I will be forced to take measures. I would prefer that not to become necessary. I trust that you understand me."

She looked him full in the face. "And if they antagonise _me_?" she asked with a flash of fire.

Snape touched her mind softly. She wasn't afraid. Of him, of Death Eaters, of the Dark Lord. She had the kind of unthinking fervour Snape usually associated with Death Eaters or religious fanatics, but centred around _herself_.

Unless she was only projecting her confidence. There was no telling what Livingstone might have taught her when it came to Occlumency. He picked it up quickly himself and had a frightening track record when it came to passing on his gifts.

Track record. It was even infecting his own thoughts, now.

"If events reach a point where drastic measures need to be taken, I expect to be notified," he said levelly. It would not be wise to probe deeper into her mind lest he be detected. "Slytherin House must remain united, and strong. I will not accept success for some and failure for others. We will all survive, Greengrass. If we work together."

"All right, sir," she said easily, standing up. "But you might want to consider applying that to all of Hogwarts."

Snape said nothing. Greengrass held her head high and marched out of the room.

Livingstone was in five minutes later looking flustered and distracted.

"Can you teach me Fiendfyre?" he asked, frowning. "I might need it."

Snape was barely surprised. "Explain."

Livingstone opened his mouth to answer then paused and closed it again. "It destroys things," he said slowly. "Beyond magical repair."

"I am aware of its properties."

Livingstone hesitated again. "Well," he said. "For the Horcrux, you know."

Snape did not know. He very much did not know. He had heard of Horcruxes, of course, but even the Dark Lord dismissed them as more superstition than substance. They were what every ambitious, naive dark wizard or witch obsessed about until they broke under ridicule and developed more substantive tactics.

"The Horcrux."

Livingstone nodded. "The Dark Lord has one. That's why he didn't fully die."

Snape sighed. Information about such dark magic, even theoretical dark magic, should not be available to any student of Hogwarts. For Livingstone to so much as know about Horcruxes meant that he was either talking to very dangerous people, or the information was far too easily accessed at Hogwarts. Another problem Snape would no doubt be attending to himself.

"What is your evidence for this claim?"

"The room," Livingstone said. "You know the one Potter and friends used for their meetings last year?"

"The Room of Requirement."

"Oh. I didn't realise it had a name." Livingstone was quiet for a moment then shook himself out of it. "I went in there on Tuesday night wanting to know how to destroy the Dark Lord. It gave me a book on Horcruxes and records for an orphanage." He shrugged. "It's always done right by me before. And it makes sense, why he's such a nutjob if he's only got half a soul."

The simplicity of the theory was tantalising. For all that Dumbledore had come to represent Hogwarts over the years, he did not understand the very deepest of its magic — the Room of Requirement included. Snape had no hope of doing so.

"The orphanage?" he prompted.

Livingstone frowned in thought. "Something, um … Regents Park Children's Home. I'm thinking either the Dark Lord grew up there or he killed one of the children there to make his Horcrux. Because children's souls are —"

Snape lifted a hand sharply. Livingstone fell silent.

"This book," Snape said. "Do you have it with you?"

Livingstone shook his head. "I don't know if it even exists outside the room. I couldn't leave with it."

"Its title?"

"Secrets of the Darkest Art," Livingstone said. "By Owle Bullock. There's no mention of it anywhere in the library."

He was looking at Snape, ready to be advised and instructed. It was clear that he considered it perfectly natural to come to Snape discussing Horcruxes and the potency of children's souls and his theories on the Dark Lord's origins. Snape found it distinctly unnatural. It was the trust, again. Trust not only in Snape's intentions but in his abilities. And not blind trust; the boy had not rushed to Snape upon receiving the knowledge but had conducted research, considered possibilities and decided to share.

And he wasn't done sharing. "It says a living Horcrux can be destroyed with the Killing Curse but if it's not alive then the container has to be destroyed beyond magical repair. I looked it up and Fiendfyre sounds like the best option. If I can learn that, then if I miraculously stumble across the Horcrux because of the prophecy or whatever then I'll be able to destroy it then and there."

"I thought," Snape said slowly, "that you had decided the prophecy was not pertinent."

Livingstone shrugged. "Well, it probably isn't. But it would be crazy not to be ready for if it turns out right."

And McGonagall thought this boy was fragile.

"I will look into this theory," Snape said. "By all means continue your investigations but wait for my word before you undertake any decisive action. Fiendfyre is not a spell to be taken lightly."

Livingstone didn't look particularly happy with that but he nodded. "I won't do anything stupid."

Snape returned the nod and took out his wand. "_Legilimens_."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"It is sufficient progress," Snape allowed, laying his wand down on the desk.

"That makes me feel so warm inside," Daniel said, sinking into his chair. He could only think relatively foggily, so thoughtless one-liners were the best way to still seem on top of things. Or at least he thought that was about right. He rolled his head around on his neck and listened to the cracks and crunches that followed.

Snape busied himself organising and scribbling on parchment while Daniel got his head together. It was one of those moments of quiet respect Snape gave him and never drew any attention to. Daniel let himself bask in it for a short while then forced himself on to his next task.

"I need help with planning what I'm going to do," he said when Snape moved one pile of parchment to the side and reached for another. "I've been thinking about it, but it's all getting a bit big for me to keep track of."

Snape frowned up at him. "Is that not what we discussed not half an hour ago?"

"Oh, no," Daniel said quickly. "Not with how to do all that. I mean with everything else."

Snape's gaze went flat. "Everything."

Daniel held back from rolling his eyes. Snape was always overreacting. "Politics," he said.

The relief was plain on Snape's face. Daniel grinned and got stuck in. "We already know I have to have friends everywhere, but nobody too friendly, and to use them all for different parts of what I needed to do. But we didn't really talk about anything going the other way. Like, if I hang around with Draco and Pansy should I be edging them away from the Dark Lord? And if I'm really going to try and get into Millicent's good books, do I want to try and link her up with Hazel and Muir, or maybe even the Ravenclaws? I know Draco's making a name for himself with the younger kids, do I want to let him do that and have them look up to him with the possibility he's going to end up dark, or do I edge him away from that and hope it's enough, or do I actually make myself or somebody else an alternative that's safer so that —"

"Livingstone," Snape said with what was almost a smile in his eyes. "You are no Helga Hufflepuff."

What the hell? "Well, yeah," Daniel said. "I am talking about manipulating people here, not swearing loyalty to them."

Snape shook his head. "Hufflepuff House is something quite separate from Helga herself."

It was the first Daniel had heard of anything like that. He leaned back a little in his seat and prepared to be enlightened.

"As a witch," Snape said, "Hufflepuff was not only inclusive but socially active. It was said that a room full of warring wizards and witches would settle down into healthy debate within five minutes if she was in the room with them."

"Didn't do much to stop Gryffindor and Slytherin exploding all over each other," Daniel pointed out. Then he wished he'd thought of another way to put it. But Snape didn't seem to notice, so no harm done.

"No," he said. "But then, some animosity is beyond conciliation. Gryffindor and Slytherin were notoriously egotistical and intransigent."

Daniel sighed. "_Men_."

Snape didn't react. Daniel had gotten great mileage out of that joke and it hurt a bit to see it fall so flat. Snape usually only found Daniel funny when he wasn't trying to be, the git.

"Fine," Daniel said, and fished around in his bag for the notes he'd made. "Here."

Snape read over the parchment slowly. Daniel couldn't begin to guess at his thoughts.

"You are too ambitious," he said eventually. "Your ideas are sound but if you have too many objectives in mind your efforts will be diluted."

"It's not like I have anything else to do," Daniel said, a bit stung by the assessment. "I can pass sixth-year Transfiguration in my sleep, which just leaves Defence for me to do all day every day. No thanks."

"Attempt no inroads into established cliques," Snape said as though Daniel hadn't spoken. "Avoid the younger students. Malfoy has them in hand."

Daniel slouched deeper into the chair. "I was looking for advice, not instructions."

Snape's eyes glittered. Daniel found himself preparing for more Occlumency. But all Snape did was nod and push the parchment back towards Daniel. "Stay close to Draco," he said. "Avoid McBurneys. I _advise_ you to only do that which comes naturally to you. In this matter, forced effort is more harmful than avoidance."

Daniel bit the side of his lip and considered Snape for a moment. Snape tolerated it for a moment then his lip curled. "Was there anything else?"

"What do I do if people try to recruit me?"

To Daniel's relief Snape answered without hesitation. "The only ones who would do so are those who think it in your best interests. No student will do so with authority."

"Are you sure?"

Snape scowled at that. "Okay," Daniel said quickly. "You wouldn't have said so otherwise. Sorry."

"If anyone does so, do not dismiss them out of hand," Snape instructed. "Listen to their words and consider their opinions. It is in everyone's best interests for you to do so."

Daniel stared at Snape in disbelief. Snape stared back, dark eyes sombre. Lost for words, Daniel got his bag, stuffed the parchment into it and headed for the door.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel woke up on Saturday morning and levered himself out of bed to see the dormitory empty except for Blaise, who was sitting on the edge of his own bed waiting patiently, apparently for Daniel.

"Hm?" Daniel said blearily, sitting back down.

Blaise stared at him thoughtfully.

"Good morning," Daniel tried. "It is morning, right?"

"It is. Around nine, I think. We're going to be late for the Quidditch trials."

Daniel waited for whatever terrible revelation would come next. Blaise had been unusually friendly in the last week but he hadn't exactly sought out alone time with Daniel. He'd kept a polite distance between them that Daniel had been quite enjoying.

This, he wasn't enjoying quite so much. "What, then?"

"Don't walk the corridors alone," Blaise said. "I mean that perfectly seriously. You shouldn't."

Daniel gave him a lean smile. "I don't particularly like being followed around all the time. It gets tiresome."

"Then follow somebody else. Always."

Blaise didn't have much of a sense of humour, apart from his twisted delight in other people's pain. Otherwise, Daniel would laugh this off and go up to breakfast. "What's the danger of it?" Daniel asked.

Blaise shook his head. "Plenty of people are learning to hate you," he said.

"Not likely," Daniel retorted. "Everyone's got someone they hate more than me. I'm not on either side. I'm insignificant. It's hard to switch from ignoring a person to detesting them and most people have better things to do."

"It's not hard at all for one's opinion of a person to change," Blaise corrected him. "I'm warning you of danger here and I mean it."

"If you'd just explain why you're giving me the warning, then I wouldn't have so much trouble with it."

Blaise shook his head and stood up. "Consider it a favour that I'm warning you at all," he said. "I didn't want to, but for your sake I have."

Daniel got up again. He wasn't quite as tall as Blaise but he wasn't far off it either. And he could pull off some mean pyjama poise.

"I won't let you ignore it," Blaise said calmly.

"What's the danger? I just need to defend against —"

"No," Blaise snapped. "No, Daniel, you need to listen for once in your life. I am doing you an enormous favour telling you this. You fuck it up, I won't be warning you next time. I am not even slightly joking."

Daniel gave up arguing. Gave up arguing the general principles, anyway. That didn't mean he was just going to smile and nod. "Walk the corridors, you said. Am I allowed onto the grounds alone? The bathroom?"

"The grounds are fine," Blaise said humourlessly. "Classrooms are fine, Hogsmeade's fine, Quidditch pitch is fine, common room, dorms, great hall, entrance hall, all fine. The corridors are the danger. Got it?"

"I hear you, you smug git."

Blaise stepped up to him and fixed him with a perfectly level gaze. "I haven't told a single other person," he said.

"Not even Daphne?" Daniel asked.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Not a single other person."

"Daphne's not single."

"I really don't like you at all."

Daniel laughed. "I know it."

"Can I trust you to take my advice? I'd like to be able to avoid you as much as possible but if you're not going to be sensible about it —"

"I'm the very soul of sensible, don't worry." Daniel knelt down and scrambled around in his trunk for some proper clothes. "I won't let the corridor monster eat me."

Blaise wasn't inclined to believe him. But after a moment's hesitation he walked out of the room. He was either trusting Daniel to heed the warning or he was congratulating himself on setting up some kind of genius ploy to conquer the world.

Daniel thought it was probably the first of the two, but he wasn't sure why.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Travis Urquhart, Slytherin's new Quidditch Captain, had scheduled Quidditch tryouts for Saturday morning, to be directly followed by extensive training after lunch. If Snape put in four hours of steady paperwork in the morning he would have time to do the unthinkable and visit Sybill Trelawney's remote tower. Snape had to speak to her given what he had seen in Zabini's mind and she would certainly not lower herself into the daily grind of the castle for his sake.

Just before eleven he made it out of his office and walked the long walk up to the tower, managing to terrify a cluster of scheming second-year Ravenclaws and Kevin Whitby along the way. The task ahead of him gave him genuine venom he was only too happy to share.

Trelawney wasn't the most accessible of professors, but Snape had made it his business years ago to be able to get into any room of Hogwarts. Potter and Black had been able to do so during their school days; there was no reason Snape should not be able to do the same as a professor of the school. So when the trapdoor failed to open as he stood beneath it, he adopted his next tactic and flicked his wand upwards, sending a series of brisk knocks up to the ceiling.

He waited three minutes, then cast Alohomora at the trapdoor. To Snape's surprise and slight disappointment, it lifted. No ladder presented itself, but a gentle summoning charm solved that problem.

Snape took a deep breath and ascended up into Trelawney's lair, pulling the ladder up behind him and closing the trapdoor firmly.

The room was barely lit and the air a revolting mix of fragrances: Snape could detect balsam, myrrh, sandalwood and camphor all battling for space in the far-too-humid air. By one of the lit lamps sat a figure in a shawl.

"_Lumos_," he said with a casual flick of the wand.

Trelawney started violently and got to her feet. She wasn't wearing any of her customary jewellery or her enormous glasses; she looked sickly and pale. Terribly thin, without any of the furbelows to distract one's attention from her form.

"Sybill," Snape said. "You were not expecting me?"

"Oh, er, Severus," she said, hurrying around the table as if Snape had not already seen the bottle of wine that was sitting there. "I was not…"

The temptation was there to strip her of what dignity she had remaining. What little sympathy Snape possessed was not likely to be wasted on an alcoholic, especially not one as pathetic and as useless as Trelawney. First, however, he would need the information he had arrived for. "I need to speak with you about my students," he said briskly.

"Oh … your students … would you like some tea?"

Snape placed the retrieval of vital information about his students higher on his list of priorities than vicarious revenge for his childhood, but just barely. "Yes please, Sybill," he said. He couldn't bring himself to say any more than that. She picked up the bottle as she sailed past, keeping it out of Snape's eyeline as she disappeared into her office.

While she was gone Snape turned the lamps all the way down and flung back all the curtains. Only a few of the windows could be opened; he opened them and sat in the chair nearest the fresh air. He wasn't usually one for draughty rooms but given the alternative an exception had to be made.

Trelawney emerged a few minutes later adorned as usual and carrying a shiny cream-coloured teapot. "Really, Severus," she said mildly, looking around, "There was no need for that."

"Drinking alone in the dark before lunch is not typically considered a healthy activity," Snape said. "Forgive my attempt to shed a little light."

Trelawney turned pink and sat down.

"As you have quite possibly not noticed, there is some turbulence in the school at the present time," Snape said before she had the chance to say anything disgustingly personal. "I will be keeping very close track of the students in my house, which necessitates conversation with all their professors."

Trelawney poured the tea, squinting a little against the sunlight as she did so. "The year will be a difficult one," she said. Snape wasn't sure if she was being mystical or merely making a facile observation. He took the cup she offered him and inhaled warily. "The future is deeply shrouded," Trelawney added, her voice decidedly more theatrical. "It is no longer enough to engage the Inner Eye and glance at the surface. One must devote more of oneself to the Seeing."

The tea was black and strong. Snape took a sip and glared at Trelawney for a moment before remembering he was trying to be agreeable. "It is not your Inner Eye I wish to consult, Sybill," he said. "It is your professional observations of my students."

The sun slipped behind a cloud, draining much of the colour out of the room as it did. Trelawney relaxed a little and adjusted her glasses. "Such mundane considerations, Severus," she said ruefully. "To fix your attention so exclusively on the tangible is to —"

"I understand all my third years have joined your class. That is unusual, is it not?"

"Unusual, yes," Trelawney mused, "but hardly surprising. It is often only in times of trouble that the art of divination is given the consideration it is due. with the return of You-Know-Who, my class may be all that stands between these children and a fate worse … than _death_."

Snape could imagine a few of those from where he was sitting. Most of them were for the woman sitting opposite him. "It is certainly a more reliable protection than that afforded by my own class."

The sarcasm in the statement went unnoticed by Trelawney. "Potions have their uses, it must be said. I myself am occasionally required to throw together a potion or two. On days when the arcane milieu falls into shadow sometimes it becomes necessary to brew —"

"I, of course, no longer teach Potions here."

Trelawney blinked huge eyes and then shook her head unconvincingly. "It becomes increasingly difficult to fix the Eye firmly in the present."

Snape drank some more tea. "I would be grateful if you would make an effort to do so now. I have quite a lot to do today."

"Do not put too much trust in the word of a child before sunset tonight," Trelawney said vaguely. Snape rolled his eyes. "Lest —"

"Yes, Sybill. What of the fourth years?"

Trelawney pouted. "Fourth year Slytherins. Aisley and Astoria."

"Dabbet has returned home," Snape reminded her.

Trelawney brushed over that information to sigh heartily. "Dear Astoria squanders her potential by refusing to seek it. I find her very remiss this year."

Snape did not particularly care about Greengrass's potential in Divination. "What is her potential?" he asked.

"Not as great as her sister's," Trelawney said mournfully before smiling a pleased little smile. "Daphne Greengrass is developing remarkable clarity to her ventures into the Unseen, even beyond that which I expected."

Ah, that hadn't taken too long at all. Snape softened his expression a little. "And Zabini?"

"Entirely sublunary, I'm afraid. I saw as much from his first day in my classroom."

"Yet he has progressed through to N.E.W.T. level," Snape pointed out.

"Daphne guides him through every task," Trelawney said. "They have a profound connection that will grow stronger as circumstances become bleak."

Snape should have known better than to think Trelawney would be able to see through any simulation of Zabini's. He had little doubt the talents flowed in opposite directions to that which she believed. Snape would have applauded Zabini's caution and guile if he didn't resent having been taken in by it himself.

He stood and looked down at Hogwarts' Divination professor. She blinked up at him, masking most of her loneliness but not all. Snape gritted his teeth. "Perhaps you should attend more meals in the hall with the rest of the staff."

As soon as she started to shake her head Snape turned on his heel and strode toward the trapdoor. If she wouldn't be helped there was no reason for him to waste his time trying. He kept his eyes lowered as he climbed back down the ladder; he would not offer a farewell.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

There were about fifty students in Slytherin. The first years couldn't try out, but pretty much everyone else was. When house loyalty was such a hot topic, Quidditch was an easy way to demonstrate you had plenty of it.

In the stands were all the first years along with Jo Chalmers, Elizabeth McBurney and Malcolm Baddock, who apparently suffered from vertigo. Daniel was sitting with the munchkins; they were less likely to go apeshit and destroy him. They'd come decked out in all their Slytherin colours and looked excited as hell to be about to see what Daniel knew would be the most boring day of his life.

Urquhart, out on the pitch with his shiny Captain's badge, was in his element. All but the older students were jumping to obey his every instruction and in no time he was swaggering about like he was Popeye.

"Look at the cocky little bitch," Chalmers said with a smile in his voice.

"He's not a bitch," little Urquhart protested fiercely. "He's the Quidditch Captain."

"No mouth from midgets," McBurney chastised her.

"Why aren't you trying out?" Tesla asked McBurney. "I thought Snape said everyone had to."

"No mouth from midgets," McBurney repeated. "Or they get squished."

"They're afraid if they get turned down their authority will be eroded," Daniel told them. "It's a self-esteem thing."

"Just watch the trials," Chalmers said. "See, the first group's gone up."

The first group was Daphne, Vaisey, Warrington, Savant and Greg Prewett. Vaisey was a certainty to get back on the team, especially with Urquhart as captain. That left one spot open and after about a minute's flying even Daniel could see that Savant and Daphne were not going to fill it. Warrington had been on the team before but he didn't look quite as smooth as Vaisey did. Prewett looked pretty flashy, but there were a couple of moments Daniel thought he might fall off his broom.

The next group was even worse. Blaise was slow, Pansy had trouble with direction, Calixto kept pointing her broomstick down without realising and Dobbs chickened out and returned to the ground pretty much straight away. Tesla looked good, but he didn't have much competition.

Urquhart waved the failures away with a nod of acknowledgement. They went over to the stands and made themselves at home.

"You were rotten," Matt Savant told his sister. "I'd have flown better than you, and I'm eleven."

"I'd have flown the best," Cearo Tesla declared. "I'm better than my brother, and he made it to the next stage."

"You're not better than Scott," Urquhart sneered. "You're the worst flier I've ever seen."

"I'll outfly you any day," Tesla said, throwing his chest out. "I'd have made the team if first years were allowed. Seeker, like Harry Potter."

The Beaters were in the air but Daniel was hardly interested. He'd look up if there were screams of pain and that was all.

"Yes!" Wilkes leapt to her feet with her hands in the air. "Did you see Benjy! Yes!"

"Nice," Savant said approvingly. "Shame it didn't take Gwilt's head off."

"Oh, he will," Wilkes said. "You watch."

"How come Crabbe and Goyle were on the team for so long?" Rowle muttered. "They're so slow."

"They're Malfoy's cronies," said Urquhart. "Flint liked them too."

"Crabbe isn't Malfoy's crony," Laura McBurney protested. "He's better than Goyle, anyway."

"Oh I forgot your lot had nabbed him," Urquhart said. "Sorry, he _was _Malfoy's crony."

"_Bam!_" Wilkes cried, swinging her left arm wildly as her brother did the same with his club. It hit Daniel in the shoulder. He considered his options and got up to get out of the firing line.

Half the Beaters returned to the stands a little while later: Crabbe, Goyle, Astoria, Derrick and Quirke. Astoria hurried to sit next to Daniel, leaving no room for Derrick to sit close to her.

"Well done," Daniel told her. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Oh, don't pretend you were watching." She laughed. "You should have seen it, though. Quirke nearly died."

"I did not," Quirke retorted. He was only in second year but he was bigger than Astoria already. "Anyway, I nearly hit Montague and you never got close."

"Keeper trials are actually interesting, you know," Astoria told Daniel. "It's a laugh when they fail."

"You're a horrible person," Daniel said in his most polite voice.

Astoria laughed. "It's Bron up there, and Suzanne, and Clara. Don't tell me you're not looking forward to it."

Daniel tried not to smile.

"And, it'll be Travis and Eric putting it past them." Astoria closed her eyes and leaned her face up to the sun blissfully. "I can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon."

Now hat was taking it a bit far . "I can."

Frobisher rose into the air, looking little and ridiculous in his gloves and helmet. Each of the Chasers took a Quaffle in hand and waited in line.

Daniel had to admit, watching Frobisher play at Keeper was entertaining. It wasn't that he was very good, or very bad. He just made it into a show, with broom tricks and desperate last-minute lunges. It wasn't a farce, either: he saved five out of eight shots, and just barely missed the others.

He earned whistles and cheers from the crowd for each effort and returned to the ground to some proper applause. Daniel clapped along; he liked Frobisher and appreciated the show. Freelander was next and she was boring as all get-out, but saved five as well. Pritchard only saved three. McBurney got seven, zooming forward every time and slamming the Quaffle away. The one he missed was Tesla's, who had propped smoothly and ruined McBurney's momentum.

Rowle saved seven, to considerable surprise down in the stands. Her brother Leon cheered every one. When she knocked back Tesla's shots on goal Leon brayed right in Tesla's ear. Tesla ignored him and Matt Savant punched Rowle in the arm.

So Pritchard, Freelander and Frobisher made their way to the stands next. It was starting to smell of sweat and polished wood even out in the open air. Once they'd found their seats and everyone was finished taunting and criticising each other things went oddly quiet.

Daniel didn't know much about Quidditch but he knew the last position. There were thirteen candidates for Seeker, from Maureen Adamson all the way down to tiny Ellen Caulder. Urquhart had them race all the way across the pitch and that halved the field straight away. Theo, Miller, Smee, Rookwood, Adamson, Caulder and Freelander were all turned away from the pitch. The rest were paired up first and sixth, second and fifth, third and fourth.

Timothy Harper and Orion Urquhart rose into the air. A silver training Snitch was tossed up. They waited five seconds and they were off. Urquhart was younger and smaller but Harper was quicker and wasn't afraid to use his weight to push her off course. He had the Snitch with a minute and Urquhart was applauded off the pitch.

Draco opposed Xavier Frost next. Draco toyed with the smaller boy for a good five minutes before putting on an extra burst of speed and snaring the Snitch with careless ease. Frost was clapped off as well but there were boos to be heard as well. Daniel couldn't tell if they were meant for Frost or for Draco. Either way it was hardly house spirit.

Then it was just Victoria Smith and Simon Black to go. They actually shook hands before the Snitch was released, which earned them some jeers and hisses from the crowd. Smith had edged out Black by half a second in the qualifying race and they were just as evenly matched when there was a live Snitch in play. Daniel got bored watching them jostle for position after a while and took a look around the stands.

As well as the whole of Slytherin house there were smatterings of other students. Zach Smith, Ed Nott, Valerie Frost and Damon Muir were way up the top eating lunch and talking among themselves. A little further down were smaller Hufflepuffs Daniel didn't know by name except for Olivia Brocklehurst and Jordan Usher. There was a bunch of seventh-year Ravenclaws: Chang, Page, Yates and Carmichael. There were no Gryffindors to be seen. They probably didn't want people to think it mattered to them who Slytherin selected on their team, because Gryffindor, as everyone knew, was _invincible._

Stupid Gryffindors.

People started cheering and Daniel looked up to see that Smith had caught the Snitch with Black dozens of feet away. They shook hands again before flying back to the ground.

"Are they done now?" Daniel asked.

"Nowhere near," Astoria said. "They've got a squad, now they need a team. It looks like he's kept enough for a practice match."

"What," Daniel said flatly. "Is that bit compulsory too?"

"It'll be fun," she said cheerily.

"Team's going to be Malfoy, McBurney, Wilkes, Prewett, Urquhart, Vaisey and Warrington," Theo said from nearby. "Bet you a Galleon."

"Er, McBurney?" Frobisher said. "He's fooled way too easily. Rowle was canny. And Tesla's quicker than Warrington by a country mile."

The stands erupted with bets and predictions then. Daniel groaned and put his head in his hands. Astoria patted his back politely and suggested that perhaps Bulstrode would make a better Beater than Wilkes because she was a menacing automaton while he was a hotheaded buffoon. Frances Wilkes bet three sickles against her. Frobisher started a book.

Daniel leaned against the railing at his side and closed his eyes. If Quidditch was good for nothing else it was good for catching up on sleep.


	13. Instructions

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The news spread quickly through the school after lunch on Sunday. McGonagall had the greater part of the staff patrolling the school all afternoon, Snape included.

There were plenty of students with relatives working for the Ministry, most notably Muir, McLaggen, Edgecombe, Miller, Rookwood and the Patils. Of those only McLaggen was likely to do anything stupid and only Geraint Rookwood was in Slytherin. Snape was more concerned with those who would take the events in Glasgow as encouragement to cause trouble in Hogwarts.

There had long been small communities in Britain who resisted the Ministry's jurisdiction over their own magic. Covens were no longer fashionable but that didn't prevent "autonomous collectives" from springing up from time to time and declaring themselves outside the jurisdiction of the Ministry. Usually they did so peacefully and the Ministry had no reason to intervene. Now there was a war on, things were not quite so simple.

They had spread themselves out all over Glasgow: eleven of them according to official reports. They had gathered Muggles to them, speaking of magic and of the war. It wasn't until they gave practical demonstrations of what magic could do to a Muggle that panic broke out and the Ministry was alerted to the situation.

They hadn't been shy about who they were, either. The names were flying around the school — especially through Gryffindor. Isolda Crowge, Raymond and Marianne Coote, Fan Peng, her son Dao, and Julian Frobisher senior had all been participants. Dao Peng had himself been a student at Hogwarts only two years ago; his brother Quon was in third year.

What they had done had resonated, especially with the Muggleborn students. Plenty of Snape's students resented the spirit the Muggleborn were showing, and were very generous with the 'blood-traitor' insult in lieu of the more explicitly forbidden epithets.

That problem was mainly limited to the younger students: those who had not yet learned to sublimate their egos. The seventh-years had Julian Frobisher junior among their ranks and refrained from public comment. The sixth years were veterans of ignoring political difference for each others' sake. The most notable thing coming out of sixth year was Malfoy's continued campaign to have every Slytherin within half-a-second's reach of their wand.

Snape's choice of fifth-year prefects, Black and Savant, was bearing fruit now. They were both moderately tolerant and perfectly poised to mediate between Urquhart and Vaisey, who were defiantly aligned with the Muggleborn, and Gwilt and Miller, who were decidedly not. Prewett and Harper were quiet types and Snape could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had had to intervene in fifth-year affairs since the beginning of the year.

The fourth-years were a nightmare, and those below them weren't much better. By the end of the day Snape had been forced to take a total of eighty points from Slytherin and assign a dozen detentions to his own students. Of course those totals paled in significance to those for the other houses but it rankled nonetheless.

Trelawney came down to dinner that evening, to general consternation among the staff. Snape refrained from asking her why she had not warned them in advance of the events that would unfold. Instead he completely ignored her and every other staff member in favour of monitoring the Slytherin table for any signs of restlessness. Julian Frobisher, he noticed, was among the ruckus that was the Gryffindor table and looking right at home.

Yes, there was a new Gryffindor clique forming right before Snape's eyes. It was comprised of the families of the Glasgow Enlightenment, or whatever they were choosing to call it. Vicky and Max Frobisher; Ritchie and Lyra Coote; Eamon and Dacre Crowge; Quon Peng. Folk heroes among the Muggle-rights crowd for nothing other than heredity. No doubt somebody from another house would point out the irony to them soon enough. Perhaps that was why the Slytherin Frobisher was enjoying himself so thoroughly there.

Their celebration quieted quickly when Jo Chalmers marched up to them to address Frobisher sternly. Frobisher laughed and waved him away but Chalmers stood firm. Snape could feel the tension from fifty feet away. Then Vicky Frobisher got to her feet and gestured what looked like an invitation for Chalmers to sit down with them. Chalmers laughed, and Frobisher pointed to her Head Girl badge.

Chalmers glanced furtively up to the staff table. When he noticed Snape watching he turned on his heel and walked quickly back to Slytherin. There was a short silence at the Gryffindor table until Julian Frobisher said something that made the whole table erupt with laughter.

Perhaps the seventh-years would be the most trouble for Snape after all.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

It didn't count as walking the corridors alone when Daniel was Disillusioned and shadowing other students around the castle. He was sure of it. Not that Whitby and Branstone would be any use if there was some kind of danger, but according to Blaise it wasn't about danger. It was about, word for word, "walking the corridors alone".

What a nutcase.

It was mighty creepy how easily Daniel got away with it; he could be doing so much worse creeping about unseen but apparently nobody ever thought to check for interlopers. Granted, third-year Hufflepuffs weren't the most suspicious of creatures, but yesterday Daniel had spent a good half-hour wandering around behind Page, Chang and Yates with them none the wiser, and he'd learned plenty about the way Ravenclaw was working these days. That was one fairly safe bet with a Ravenclaw: they loved to hear themselves talk.

People must be assuming they were safe at Hogwarts. And to be fair, nobody had been gruesomely murdered so it wasn't like it was an unreasonable assumption. Yet.

Daniel sighed. He was turning into a real worrywart, patrolling the corridor like some kind of a watchdog while everyone else just got on with their lives, talking about recent Quidditch selections on their way back from class.

"Did you hear something?" Whitby asked Branstone, cutting off his opinion on Stebbins' Keeping and slowing them down a little. Daniel had the sudden urge to start moaning and wailing and throwing things around. Like he was twelve and didn't take being able to turn invisible for granted. Like he could have fun with it.

Like that was going to happen. Daniel stood perfectly still and slowed his breathing down as far as it would go. He did not want to be explaining to Snape what he was doing stalking third-years in the middle of the day when he was supposed to be — whatever he was supposed to be doing in the million hours a week he didn't have class.

Whitby started to walk again but Branstone grabbed his arm and pulled him back, shaking her head a little. She took her wand out, motioning for silence. Daniel moved quietly over to stand with his back against the wall.

"Boo," he snapped, removing the charm.

They stared at him.

"Do you mind?" he asked, waving them on. "I'm waiting for someone."

Branstone was about to leave when Whitby took a step towards Daniel and crossed his arms. "Who?" he demanded.

"Salazar Slytherin," Daniel said. "What's it to you?"

"Why were you invisible?" Branstone asked.

"Why couldn't you wait in a classroom?" Whitby added.

"Go away," Daniel suggested. "Tell Sprout later, whatever, I don't care. There's no rule about always being visible in the corridor. I checked. Now go away."

They exchanged a look and Branstone put her wand away. "It's creepy," she said.

Daniel leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling patiently. The two of them hurried off, leaving Daniel in peace. And alone in the corridor. But that was fine, because if he didn't _walk_ anywhere then he wasn't walking the corridors alone. He'd just wait here, invisible, until someone else —

Damn. Valerie Frost appeared around a corner before he got around to re-Disillusioning himself. It wasn't like he was in Hufflepuff territory, either: third floor, east wing.

She caught sight of him, smiled, and walked up. Swaying a little, unless Daniel was very much mistaken. Not drunken-swaying, either. A more intentional kind of swaying. He returned the smile, wondering if he'd spoken two words to her in his life. He didn't think he had…

"Hi," she said brightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Hufflepuffs," Daniel sighed. "So many questions." The smile stayed on his face, half-hopeful and half-defensive. He didn't know what that made it in total. Hopefully winning.

"Have you seen Zach?" Frost asked. "He vanished straight after Defence, and I needed to talk to him."

Daniel shook his head apologetically. "Hardly anyone's come by here."

"Oh, are you waiting for someone?"

So many _questions_. Daniel put on a rueful expression and nodded.

"Whoops, sorry," she said, taking a backward step down the corridor. "Am I ruining a top-secret meeting or something?"

"No," Daniel said, far too quickly. She wasn't even that pretty. Well she was kind of pretty, but not really Daniel's type. Too skinny, and a big nose. He was just pathetically lonely, most likely.

She smiled a small, pleased smile and shifted to stand next to him by the wall. "Xavier says you hate Quidditch," she said conversationally. "Do you fly?"

"Yuck, no," Daniel said. "I mean I can if I have to, but I don't like it."

"When would you ever _have_ to fly?"

"For school," Daniel answered. "For pride. To retrieve personal possessions from windowsills. You know."

"I think —"

Daniel didn't really hear the rest of what she was saying. The words floated around and over him, hardly touching the real him, the one that could just breathe in and breathe out and really _appreciate _life.

_Kiss her_.

Then he was leaning forwards. His lips met hers rather earlier than he expected but that could only be a good thing. It was nice to be able to forget his worries and go with the flow. For as long as the voice inside his head thought it was a good idea to keep kissing her, that's what he'd do. It felt good, in a hazy, doped-up kind of way. And the better it felt, the better ideas he kept getting: take her cloak off, loosen her tie, unbutton her shirt — she squirmed away at that, but that didn't stop it from being a good idea.

Someone shouted something in a distant world. For a moment, he thought there was something wrong with what was happening, but then he was reminded — _keep kissing her_ — and it was fine again.

_Block it!_ Daniel cast Protego without a moment's thought. He felt the impact of a spell hitting his shield but it wasn't very strong. The girl was edging away from him. _Grab her_. He had to block another curse, though he probably could have ignored it if he hadn't been getting such strong … instructions?

He frowned, loosening his hold on Valerie's arm for a moment. Where was —

_Block it!_

Daniel did.

_Now get him back. Hurt him._

Daniel flung his wand out to where he'd been cursed from. He didn't need to aim too precisely. "_Mensdolo!_"

He hadn't put much power into it — it was too much effort really, when everything else was going so well. There was a brief cry of pain. That should do as far as "hurt him" went. Now he could just relax…

_Don't just make him shout. Make him _scream.

Now there was plenty of shouting, Daniel noticed. It was getting a bit hard to concentrate. He looked around for his target. What would make a person scream? Was there a spell that could do that? Maybe there was, but Daniel couldn't really think of one.

_Hurt him. Hurt him as much as you can._

Daniel spotted Xavier Frost about to cast something at him.

_Put him down. Hurry! She's getting away._

Frost fired off a stunner. Daniel watched it hit him and felt a little bit woozy.

_Never mind that. Get rid of the nuisance._

Daniel got hit again. The world went a little dim. He raised his wand, but before he could cast anything his fingers went numb and his wand dropped out of his hand.

_Get Frost, then. Valerie. Hurry up. Ignore the boy._

Daniel looked around for Frost and spotted her. She was pointing her wand at him as well. She had probably made him drop his wand. _Go and apologise._

Daniel hurried over, then there was a moment of deafening noise, then there was nothing.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape sat opposite Xavier Frost and clasped his hands together on the desk. "Describe exactly what transpired. Do not omit or embellish."

Frost still looked as furious as he had when Flitwick had summoned Snape to the third floor. "He — Livingstone — was snogging Val. She was trying to get away. Sliding along the wall and such. But he wouldn't let up. I shouted at him to stop, to get off her. Her — he was going at her buttons so I told him to stop again, and he didn't, so I cast a stinging hex at him. Just that sir, I swear. He blocked it and kind of let go, but grabbed her again afterwards, and then he blocked my next one as well without even looking."

He paused in his story, waiting for some kind of reaction from Snape. Snape had got all his reacting out of the way beforehand and so could present his most inscrutable expression for Frost's inspection.

"I was trying to think of what else I could do. I mean, he's in sixth year and everyone knows he's a wicked smart dueller. Then he cast something, Mensdolo it was called, at me, and it hurt, so it took me a second to get my head together. But he was coming after me instead of Val, which was what I wanted. He saw me but he didn't really do anything." At least this boy's face didn't contort horribly whenever he was thinking hard. His brows knitted slightly and that was all. "There was something really frightening about him, sir. The way he looked at me. I — I was afraid. I tried to stun him. He just let it hit him. So I tried again and he didn't even lift his wand."

Frost's expression cleared. "Then Val had her wand out and made him drop his. He made a run for her but then Delaney turned up and stunned him properly."

The boy took a deep breath at the end of his story and let it out slowly. "Sir, I —"

Snape nodded for him to continue.

"I think maybe he was under Imperius."

"A reasonable conclusion," Snape allowed. "But I am more interested in your actions, Mr. Frost."

Frost's eyes widened and he gaped a little. "Mine? What did I do?"

"You have just told me," Snape answered him. "Think back."

"The hex? The _stinging_ hex?" Frost stared at Snape in astonishment. "He was _all over_ my sister!"

"Presumably your sister carries her wand with her at all times."

"Well … well, yes, sir."

"I also presume that she would respond with violence of some kind if such behaviour as Livingstone was exhibiting was profoundly unwelcome."

That had Frost scowling. "Even if it was just a little bit unwelcome, he shouldn't have been doing it."

"Again, Frost, we are discussing your own behaviour, not that of others."

"So I overreacted!" Frost said, flinging up his hands in frustration. "I cast a couple of stinging hexes. He cursed me a lot more! I can't believe we're talking about this!"

"Mr. Livingstone is in the custody of the headmaster," Snape said. "Rest assured: you are of secondary importance."

Frost closed his mouth tightly and placed his hands back into his lap.

"The hexes were inappropriate, but not profoundly so," Snape told him. "Think back to the point at which Mr. Livingstone had released your sister and focussed his attention on you."

He gave Frost a moment to think which, to the boy's credit, he took. "Should I have … should I have gone for help?" he asked uncertainly. "He was still right next to Val, really. If I'd gone, he might have done something to her."

"You were aware that Livingstone was a … 'wicked smart dueller' all this time," Snape said, sick of the waiting game. "You were also of the probable inefficacy of your stunning spell. Yet you cast it, twice, in lieu of more advantageous actions."

"My head was hurting," Frost mumbled. "I didn't think. I'm sorry sir, but I was scared and I wasn't thinking."

"Frost," Snape said. He waited until Frost was meeting his eyes and attentive. "You must _always_ think."

Frost's cheeks reddened and his chin wobbled a little along with his pride. Snape had little doubt that the message had hit home. Frost had handled the situation better than most of his peers would have, which meant he had the potential to do much better. Snape would see to it that he would in future.

"You are dismissed," Snape said. "I hope I need not remind you of what is appropriate behaviour from this point onwards."

Frost stood up and shook his head. "No, sir," he said. "I know."

"Good. Out."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel woke up to perfect quiet and Dumbledore staring down at him.

"Jesus!" he said, scrambling to get up. He looked desperately around for Snape, but nobody else was in the whole corridor. He patted himself down for his wand; he had none.

He wanted to babble that it had to have been Imperius, that he hadn't actually _done _anything, that technically Xavier had attacked him first. But instead he lowered his eyes to the floor and clamped his mouth shut. The more you said, the more you gave away. Never mind that Dumbledore hardly needed Daniel to make a mistake to take advantage of him. It was the principle of the thing.

"The school is in something of an uproar," Dumbledore commented benignly. "There are a great number of people very unhappy with you, for various reasons."

Daniel clenched his jaw so hard it ached. Then he unclenched it, as his brain caught up to the situation. "Is Valerie okay?"

Dumbledore paused. Daniel wasn't stupid; he kept his eyes lowered to wait. "The young lady is understandably distressed," the old man said eventually. "She has not been harmed."

"Xavier?"

"More irate than injured," Dumbledore said, amusement touching his voice. "He was last heard inquiring about the rules and regulations surrounding Azkaban and the speed at which a student could be installed there."

Terror hit Daniel solidly in his gut, making him sway where he stood. "I didn't mean to," he said in a voice he barely recognised as his own. Dumbledore would do as Dumbledore pleased, and Dumbledore didn't care about the innocents. "I swear, it wasn't me. I wouldn't…"

He looked around again, though he had no idea what it was he was looking for. Even the portraits had cleared out. No witnesses. "I didn't even do anything to put me in Azkaban," he said. "Even if it had been me. It was one curse, and I hardly put anything into it."

From the corner of his eye he could see Dumbledore shaking his head. "I believe the young man is referring to your actions regarding his sister," the old man said soothingly.

Daniel remembered it perfectly. He'd been so happy, so relaxed. He could remember how she'd felt, and … "Oh God," he managed to say, in a voice thick with nausea. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could; it should have felt bad. Disgusting, even. There needed to be a wrongness to it. He needed it to be a _bad _memory. If Xavier hadn't come along when he did and put a stop to it … Daniel couldn't even form the thoughts.

Daniel exhaled fiercely and used the energy to stand more firmly and stop the blasted trembling. He wasn't hurt, after all. His wand-hand fingers were tingling a little, but apart from that he was fine. "I need to talk to … both of them, I guess. I don't know if whoever did it to hurt me or Valerie so we need to find that out first. I guess it was Imperius and there can't be that many students who can cast it properly. Or maybe a teacher…" He looked at Dumbledore in an instinctive reach for feedback, then jerked his head away again. What he needed to do was talk to Snape.

"Where's my wand?"

"It is being examined as we speak," Dumbledore said.

Daniel jerked in alarm. "By who?"

"By Professor Snape."

That was all right then. Daniel swallowed, working towards calm. "When can I get it back?"

"If you are to be expelled, it will be snapped in two."

"Yeah," Daniel said brashly. "How about answering the question?"

Footsteps clacked loudly down the corridor. Daniel turned around to see McGonagall walking briskly towards them. She ignored Daniel to speak right to Dumbledore, who walked quickly over to greet her. She started to say something about missing students but Dumbledore steered her smoothly out of earshot.

That worked okay for Daniel, who had places he needed to be and people he needed to see. He picked out the tall oval portrait that usually held a flock of red birds but now held an empty blue sky, shoved it to the side and slipped into the passageway behind it. He went to light his wand, but of course didn't have it and was forced to feel his way along the walls. He took the second right turn, went all the way down countless steep spiral stairs and then spent a good ten minutes in the dark trying to find the spot on the wall that opened the door into the kitchens.

He walked out into the usual din, got laden down with cakes and pastries which he dumped at the door, then made it out into the corridor. From there he would just have to hope there was no-one in between him and Snape's office. Unless he'd been left unconscious for over an hour it should still be morning; there weren't usually many people this low in the castle in the mornings. Most people were probably at lunch.

"I haven't even had a chance to talk to him yet," Daniel heard Theo say just before he turned into the home stretch. "Nobody has."

The other voice was scornful and abrupt. Zach Smith, Daniel thought it was. "What can he possibly say? You heard what the portraits said, and Frost, too."

"And soon I'll have heard what Daniel says," Theo said patiently.

"He … she's in my year, Nott. She's in my house."

Theo's voice was painstakingly calm. "I know that."

Smith snorted in disgust. "Forget it. You're as parochial as the damn Gryffindors."

"Because I'm waiting for both sides of the story?" Theo asked with faint scorn. "Remind me … that lofty speech you made to us last week … what was it about again?"

Daniel slipped around the corner, unwilling to wait unseen any longer. Who knew what people were saying about him while he couldn't defend himself, or who might have been sneaking up on him from behind.

Theo and Smith were facing each other about twenty feet ahead of Snape's doorway, mirroring each other for posture and expression. Both had their arms crossed, leaning forward toward each other with disapproving looks on their faces.

Daniel said the first thing that came to mind when he saw them. "Are you two related or something?"

Theo glanced across at him with a guarded expression but Smith snarled and went for his wand. Theo grabbed it out of his hand, but only just.

"Hey!" Smith tried to snatch it back.

"I have to see Snape," Daniel said dully. "And they took my wand, so if you attack me you'll be able to hurt me so much you might get expelled too! Ain't life grand."

"They're letting you walk the corridors alone?" Smith said in disbelief, giving up on the wand idea and marching straight up to Daniel instead.

"I know wizards aren't much into fair trials as a rule," Daniel said, setting a course towards Snape's office and starting along it. "But I thought Hufflepuffs were meant to at least make an effort."

Smith was looking thunderous. "Where's Val?"

"How the hell should I know?" They were going to collide soon unless one of them changed course. "Nobody will tell me anything. I just have to go to Snape."

He let Smith smash him once in the face, just to make sure nobody could claim he'd started it. The rest of the plan had been to have a tussle then brush him off so he could get to Snape. But when it came to doing that, it was harder than he thought it would be. Probably because he'd just been punched in the face.

They floundered about on the ground a bit. Good thing Smith wasn't much cop at fighting, or Daniel might have been properly hurt. There was blood in Daniel mouth when Theo pulled Smith off him, and it was starting to get difficult to breathe.

Theo told Smith to bugger off and then dragged Daniel into the Slytherin common room. Along the way he made Daniel's face feel better and presumably spelled away the blood.

"It was Imperius," Daniel said once he remembered how to speak. "I stopped thinking — it had to be Imperius. It was all just good, you know. And everything I thought made sense. So I did it."

"You're a complete disaster, Livingstone," Theo said, shaking his head. "Ever heard of staying _out _of trouble?"

Daniel shook him off and gave the password himself. The common room was empty so he flung himself down onto one of the couches. He lay still for a moment then said, "Aaaaaargh," as loudly as he could in the hope that it would make everything better forever.


	14. Questions

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"I haven't even _done_ anything," Daniel said, pacing fiercely just inside the closed door of the dormitory. "I told people I wasn't Muggleborn. Nobody cared! And after that I did absolutely _nothing_ and this is what I get for it. Nothing else happened. Nobody else has been attacked and forced into attacking other people. I'm not even the odd one out in Slytherin any more, now that we all know I have respectable magical blood flowing through my veins like all proper wizards. Tell me, please, who is it in this school who has it in for me and how I can make them stop."

"Chalmers," Blaise said immediately.

"Bron McBurney," Draco added.

"And Baddock and Rookwood," Theo said. "Though I doubt they have this kind of thing in them."

"I told you," Blaise said soberly. "I said people didn't like you."

"It's not like I _was _walking the corridors alone," Daniel said, coming to a stop and glaring at his housemate. "I was actually bloody careful about it. So thanks a heap for your advice!"

Blaise frowned sceptically. Daniel huffed at him and resumed pacing.

"It wasn't Jo," Goyle said, half a minute behind in the conversation as usual. "He was outside arguing with Quark about what the Glasgow kids have been saying and what should be done about it."

"Like she's going to stop them doing anything," Crabbe grumbled. "Her and Rost both — Mudbloods."

"And Frobisher our _Head Girl_ is as Muggle-loving as they come," Draco said critically. "I can't think what McGonagall's trying to achieve, with every Gryffindor prefect either a Mudblood or an out-and-out blood traitor."

"Muggle-sympathetic," Theo said absently. "And Muggle-born."

"No politics in the dormitory," Blaise needled him. Theo shot him a filthy look.

"Perhaps we should just cut Gryffindor loose," Draco mused. "If they love Muggles so much, they can go and live with them in their stinking crowds and mob rule. Leave the magic to the people who can appreciate it."

Whatever. Daniel had heard all of this before. He left the dormitory abruptly, marched through the common room, out into the corridor and straight towards the Hufflepuff rooms. He waited outside for about ten minutes before a third- or fourth-year girl with short black hair came bustling along the corridor to go in.

She stopped dead when she saw him and looked around nervously. "Um…"

"I want to talk to Valerie Frost," Daniel said. "Do you know if she's in there?"

She ran a hand through her hair and swung her bag nervously. "I can … I can check, I suppose."

She wouldn't come any closer until Daniel backed away, so he gritted his teeth and gave her some room. He tried to speak reassuringly. "I don't have to talk to her alone or anything," he said. "If she wants someone there, or a particular place, or not to talk to me at all — it's her choice. Got that?"

The girl nodded hastily and vanished into Hufflepuff.

Daniel had time to cast about a dozen exploratory spells on his surroundings before the entrance opened again. Shame he didn't have his wand, so he couldn't actually cast any of them. Bloody Snape — how long was it going to take him to return the blasted thing?

It wasn't Frost who came out to meet him, or the dark-haired girl again. It was Damon Muir, Head Boy of Hogwarts, along with Hannah Abbott, sixth-year prefect. Daniel dropped his hands into his pockets and felt like a little boy outside the head's office: guilty, embarrassed and defensive.

Abbott gave him a cautious smile. "She's happy to talk with you."

Then Muir cut in, "And we can't stop her."

Daniel looked from one to the other. As far as he knew, Abbott liked him — she'd taken Muggle Studies with him and always come across as quite gentle and open-minded. Muir was something else. There had been plenty of head boys and girls from Hufflepuff — Muir was the sixth during Daniel's time at Hogwarts alone — but Muir didn't quite fit into the stereotype. He was a bit too discreet, too unassuming in his leadership.

A little bit too Slytherin for Daniel's liking. "Okay," he said.

"Val's convinced you were cursed while you were with her," Abbott said. "I think she's probably right. So if it's all right with you, we'll have the conversation in here."

"In Hufflepuff?" That couldn't be right. Shouldn't they be thinking of the children? The poor, innocent, vulnerable children? They might all catch the wicked from prolonged exposure.

Abbott nodded.

Daniel shrugged. "If you like."

Abbott turned to go in but Muir set himself solidly in Daniel's way. "We protect our own in Hufflepuff," he said. "And that's a mandate from Hufflepuff herself. Once you step into our rooms with our permission, you are one of us."

Daniel stared down into golden-brown eyes, at a loss for what to say. Was it a threat, or some kind of reassurance? He wondered if Muir knew he'd been down there before. Had he been an honorary Hufflepuff all that time and never known it?

Muir gave a slight nod, maybe of acceptance, and stood aside for Daniel to walk through. Daniel was taller than Muir by no mean amount, but he felt small as he crossed the threshold into the Hufflepuff common room.

The large round table Daniel remembered had been split into two smaller ones with a fair smattering of students either working or talking quietly, so that the room was filled with a pleasant low hum of conversation. Daniel had only been there before when it was all but empty; with people in it, the homey feeling he'd felt back then was multiplied by about fifty.

Abbott led him to a far corner where Valerie Frost was sitting curled up in a dark grey armchair staring thoughtfully into space. Abbott sat on a nearby sofa and motioned for Daniel to sit next to her. Muir perched on the arm of the sofa on Daniel's other side.

Frost looked up and smiled a little awkwardly at Daniel. "Hi," she said.

Daniel couldn't meet her eyes. "Hey," he said. "I don't really know how to say this, but even though I didn't mean to do … any of what I did? I'm sorry for it anyway. I —" He forced himself to look at her. "I wish I'd been able to fight it off."

Frost's smile turned rueful. "That's all right. Truth be told, I … didn't mind so much. I didn't realise it wasn't really you."

Daniel wished so, so much that she hadn't said that. So, so, _so _much.

He cleared his throat. "I thought we could work out between us who might have done it," he said. "It doesn't seem like the kind of thing someone would do just for kicks. We need to be careful."

She sat up straighter, bringing her legs out to place her feet on the floor. "I was thinking about that," she said. "I couldn't work out why anyone would want to do that to you."

Daniel shook his head. "It might not have been aimed at me, Frost. I think it had barely gotten started when your brother turned up." His voice choked up at the end. He cleared his throat again. Abbott patted him on the shoulder and he felt himself turn a slightly deeper red. It was hardly him who ought to be comforted.

"Okay, so let's say it was to hurt me," Frost said quietly. "If it's that, then I think that means it would have been someone who knows that — that I wouldn't have minded. To begin with. Otherwise it would never have gone anywhere."

Daniel wanted to hit something. He wanted to _smash _something. Who the hell was this sick? "Did anyone know you'd be there?" he asked, mostly to distract himself. "My guess is that whoever it was was hiding in the passage behind the red birds. So they were there waiting for you. Or me. Us."

Frost nodded. "There was someone there," she said. "I checked as soon as you were disarmed. There was you, me, Xavier and one person behind that wall."

"Oh, wow," Daniel said. "Good work."

"Who knew you'd be there?" Abbott prompted Frost.

The Hufflepuff girl frowned. "Well, I was looking for Zach. He's been going off on his own a bit. I thought maybe he was going to the library, so I walked that way. I suppose I said so to the others when I left."

"So it's not somewhere you'd normally be," Daniel confirmed.

She shook her head. "So what if it was set up for you?"

"That does seem more likely," Muir said.

"Cheers," Daniel said without looking at him.

"Eleanor and Kevin said you were waiting in the corridor, invisible," Muir said. "You were waiting to meet someone. That sounds like a textbook setup to me."

"I wasn't waiting to meet anybody," Daniel said. "I lied."

There was an awkward silence. Yeah, that probably hadn't been the best way to say it.

Frost's voice was colder and a little fearful. "Then what were you doing?"

Daniel decided to play it like a Hufflepuff. Honour the invitation and all that. "I'd been advised not to walk around on my own," he said. "So when I wanted to go for a walk, I'd walk with other people. They just didn't know it. It didn't really matter who, just so long as there was someone."

"That's creepy," Abbott said with honest distaste. "Why would you do that?"

"I know it's creepy," Daniel said. "I felt creepy doing it, really."

"So why did you do it? Who warned you?"

Daniel hesitated. Blaise hadn't even told Daphne, he said. He hadn't asked Daniel not to say anything about it, but the unspoken agreement wasn't something Daniel could pretend he'd missed.

The tiniest suspicion found its way into his mind and stuck like a limpet. "I can't really say."

"Well I have something I don't want to say either," Frost said hastily. "We could swap and get everything off our chests. Word of honour."

That was as good as the situation was likely to get. Besides, Daniel was a Hufflepuff at the moment: that made honesty the best policy. "Just us two," Daniel said. "And we won't tell anyone else unless we both agree on it. For each."

She nodded. Muir got up and walked away without a word. Abbott hesitated then reached out a hand to lay on Frost's shoulder for a moment before doing the same.

"A few days ago," Frost said so quietly Daniel had to lean in to hear her. "Em was talking to Elizabeth McBurney and Daphne Greengrass in the library a few tables down from me. They were talking about little sisters, and how traumatising it is when they fancy complete prats. Their words, not mine. Daphne was complaining about Astoria liking you and how hopeless it was to try and talk her out of it. Em looked over to me and asked really loudly if I still fancied you like I did in third year. They all laughed, but … I really didn't like the look on Daphne's face."

It took Daniel a moment to realise that she was waiting for him to speak. He shook his head slightly, trying to get things straight. Blaise had specifically said that he hadn't told Daphne about whatever the danger was. Why hadn't he? "What kind of look?"

"I'm probably remembering it creepier than it was…" Frost trailed off uncertainly.

"We've only got your memory to go on," Daniel said with what he thought was a pretty good attempt at a grin. "It'll have to do."

"It looked like she'd just had an idea," Frost whispered. "Like everything had just worked out for her. She's a family friend but right then it was like I hardly recognised her. I think it scared me then but it definitely does now."

Daniel knew the look she was talking about. From time to time, Daphne scared him as well. And what made it worse was how completely normal and unassuming she was the rest of the time. "Well that's bloody interesting," he thought out loud.

"What is?"

"We're not sharing this, right?" Daniel confirmed. "Like, _on pain of death_ not sharing."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Okay, maybe not pain of death. But deadly serious."

She met his eyes. Hers were very pale brown, and round.

She nodded.

"It was Blaise who told me I shouldn't walk the corridors on my own," Daniel murmured. "He was so serious I believed him. That's the only reason I was following people around; I thought he really knew what he was talking about. He wouldn't tell me why he'd warned me. He said he hadn't even told Daphne so there was no way he'd tell me. We're not … exactly friends. He begrudged me the warning."

"Maybe he was thinking about something else," Frost said sensibly. "Perhaps he made a mistake."

Daniel shook his head. "The way he was acting in the dorm afterwards, I'm sure this was the thing he thought I should have avoided."

"Blaise and Daphne … they're still together, right? And they're happy?"

Daniel nodded. "Closer than ever. Sickening, really."

"I always thought they were cute together," Frost said wistfully. "They've been together longer for as long as I've been at Hogwarts. Sometimes in the summer we'd visit the Greengrasses and he'd be there and they were always so sweet." She looked up at Daniel's face and laughed softly. "I suppose you disagree."

Daniel shook his head. "They're very sweet together. Toothache-sweet. Cavity, metal fillings, _dentures _sweet. Drills, curved-metal-agony sweet."

Frost looked lost. "What?"

Ah, purebloods. So hopelessly naïve. "Never mind." What mattered was working out what the hell was going on and putting an end to it. He didn't trust Dumbledore to do it, and he wasn't going to ask Snape for help without having something to contribute himself. Being suspicious of Blaise and Daphne was all well and good, but there were a hell of a lot of other possibilities they should check out as well.

McBurney, for one, since she'd been in the conversation with Daphne. They could start there.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape tried to soften his demeanour before entering the Slytherin common room. It wouldn't do to have people thinking he was furious at Livingstone, not until he'd determined whether he should be or not.

Though he had by necessity cancelled seventh-year defence the only students in the common room were Emma Dobbs and Orion Urquhart. Presumably the rest were at lunch indulging in gossip, it being nearly midday on a day of high drama. The two third-year girls were so intent on whatever they were doing that they didn't notice Snape's entrance. Or at least they didn't realise that it was Snape who had entered.

It looked quite a lot like Urquhart was scribbling the end to an essay with very close reference to what looked a great deal like an essay in Dobbs' enormous handwriting. They had Charms next; Snape doubted Flitwick would fail to notice any plagiarism in the work he received.

Dobbs glanced up, looking bored, and froze like a stunned rabbit. Urquhart finished the sentence she was writing then looked up as well.

"Where is Mr. Livingstone?" Snape asked them. At that exact point his right arm flared up in agony so acute he couldn't help but exhale sharply. He intensified his glare, daring either one of them to comment.

"He went out, sir," Urquhart said quickly. "About ten minutes ago."

Snape's fingers were twitching already and the muscles in his forearm were screaming in protest. "Where?" he growled.

The girls exchanged nervous looks. Urquhart's voice squeaked a little as she answered, "I don't know, sir."

"All the other sixth-year boys are down in their dorm," Dobbs said. Urquhart's head jerked a little in surprise but she kept her mouth shut. "He might have told them."

Snape swept towards the stairs. "Do not retain the semicolons," he advised Urquhart. "They are not only characteristic of Miss Dobbs' essays, but also typically used incorrectly in those same essays." He took the stairs down two at a time once he was out of their sight, using the time to dissociate from the worst of the pain.

With a relatively settled mind and dimly aching arm he knocked once on the closed door to the dormitory. He nearly opened it but instead took a deep breath and waited. They were sixteen-year-old boys; it was quite possible Snape did not want to see whatever they were doing within.

Crabbe opened the door, scowling. Behind him Nott, Zabini and Malfoy broke off their conversation and looked curiously to the doorway from the other side of the room. Goyle was sitting cross-legged on his bed and wearing the puzzled frown that meant he was as deep in thought as it was possible for Goyle to be.

"Where did Livingstone go?" Snape asked Crabbe.

"Don't know," the boy grunted.

"He didn't say, sir," Malfoy elaborated, wandering away from Nott and Zabini. "He left in rather a hurry."

The pain was seeping through the edges of Snape's consciousness. "None of you troubled to establish where he was going?" he growled.

"He was fuming," Nott said with a deliberate shrug. "He's best left to himself." Malfoy nodded.

Zabini gave them each a derisive look and turned away from the conversation.

Snape wondered if Livingstone realised how thoroughly those around him were able to read and manage him. "When he returns, please inform him that he needs to report to me. Or another of the heads of house."

Malfoy was about to speak but Snape whirled away and headed back up the stairs before the first syllable could leave the boy's lips. Dobbs and Urquhart were gone by the time he reached the common room so he availed himself of the Floo with a mixture of relief and dread. The change into his Death Eater robes and the Floo through to Spinner's End was a thoughtless process by now, as was the blind apparation following the Mark.

Snape landed on a hard stone floor. The air was cold and still; there was a faint scent of blood on the air.

"_Crucio_!"

The pain flowed through him, fiery and uncontrollable. But where pain could not be controlled, his mind's reaction to it could be. Waves and waves of pain to the forefront of the mind, endless layers of masochism and euphoria beneath. A touch of indignance for realism's sake. Nothing else was real.

Snape's body flipped and spasmed furiously for what was surely days. He let himself scream, of course; it was expected of him. There was no point in trying to hide physical pain from the Dark Lord. It only made him push harder to find his victim's point of surrender. He waited the spell out, mind suspended halfway between memory and reality.

Strains of Bellatrix's giddy laughter swelled in his ears as he struggled to find himself once more. The spell having lifted did little to alleviate the pain — not when the Dark Lord was the wizard behind the wand and he was feeling enthusiastic.

Snape kept his eyes out of focus to give him those precious extra moments to compose himself and reconfigure his defences. He didn't have the strength to rise but that didn't matter. If the Dark Lord wanted him on his feet it wasn't _Snape's_ strength that would make him so.

It was nearly impossible to compare different sessions of torture under the Dark Lord's hand. Every one was the worst there had ever been without question. But there _was _something changing; Snape was sure of it. He squirmed on the ground, as if that would help force his brain through its motions. Bellatrix laughed all the louder.

He could smell his own blood on the air now; that and the sharp tang of terror.

"Ten minutes, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked.

Snape fought to move his tongue in a way that would make words. Everything ached. Worse, the only excuse he had for his delayed arrival was practical and mundane; such reasoning no longer pleased the Dark Lord.

"I uz oo'in —" he managed.

"I beg your pardon, Severus?"

"Had to … to _look_." If he could just have a little time, he could gather himself. Engaging in conversation this soon after the Cruciatus was not usually expected of him. Usually he was given time to regain composure before dealing directly with the Dark Lord. The consequent need for rigorous Occlusion helped stabilise his thoughts at those times. Speaking into the ground from prostrate before the Dark Lord was not usual and it unsettled Snape to a dangerous degree. Not to mention that his mouth was refusing to move as he instructed it…

"Has a little discipline rendered you wholly incompetent, Severus?" The Dark Lord's voice was fiercely self-satisfied, more in the vein of Lewis Northbrook's sleaze than the callous Lord that Snape had sworn his service to. "Dear me…"

"Student," Snape coughed desperately. "Trou—"

"_Crucio_."

Snape barely had time to be dumbfounded before he slid back into self-preservation mode. He had to trust his mental disciplines would look after themselves; he was deeply shaken and couldn't risk adjusting his defences for the danger of shattering them completely. Every molecule in his body strained for simple survival, directing the pain on its way along the path of least resistance.

Snape honestly could not tell if he had been under the curse for seconds or hours. It didn't matter; his body was defeated and no longer of the slightest concern. What mattered was the state of his mind and thoughts. Despite every effort stray thoughts were floating like bubbles to the surface and popping in unfaltering rebellion. The harder he tried to suppress them the faster they rose. All it would take was a touch of Legilimency from the Dark Lord and he would see …

… Rookwood turned his head to direct a withering stare at Amycus Carrow. "Torture is a tool," he said …

… A Draco Malfoy no more than five years of age watched with bewildered dismay as his father casually instructed the house-elf to put its feet in the fire …

… Dumbledore, that night: _"You disgust me…_"

… to luxuriate in torture is to remove objectivity … reduces effectiveness of that tool …

… it hurts …

… a pale, shaking Livingstone stranded in the Gryffindor common room and grimacing at the pain in his knee, and then an older Livingstone breaking down piece by piece behind Hagrid's hut, shattered by the death of Sirius Black, of all people …

… the Dabbet children's faces when they had learned of the death of their father …

… Potter returning, incredibly, from the Dark Lord's resurrection …

… this is surely the end …

… the boy did have Lily's eyes … just the same …

… she and James put their faith in the wrong person … rather like you, Severus …

… Dumbledore … would have to find himself another murderer …

… the impossibly serene, white-clad Snape that Zabini had seen was walking through the halls of Hogwarts …

… only a matter of time …

… time …

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Everything was quiet, and still. From sheer force of habit Snape rebuilt his mind as the Dark Lord was permitted to see it. He didn't have anywhere near the strength required to assess any damage that might have been done. Rock-bottom meant fundamentals. The mind. The mask. Only once the mask was in place would he permit himself to think.

The first movement he attempted was to reach for his wand. Nothing worked exactly as it should, but on the fourth try he wrapped his fingers firmly enough around it to cast the very basic healing spells that would make everything else that little bit easier. By then his hands were steady enough to operate his potions pocket and draw out two vials of palliative.

He couldn't help but gag at the tarry aftertaste after one vial's worth. It stopped the spasms in his legs and slowed his breathing to something less ragged and painful. He drank the second and felt his heartbeat even out a little. Then followed his personalised nerve rejuvenation draught and a diluted invigoration draught. And then a long, slow drink of water.

He steeled himself to take stock of his situation. He hadn't moved, from the looks of things. And — the Dark Lord was still there in a corner of the room talking to Bellatrix in complete silence. A charm, no doubt. The sun was low; there must be a window behind him somewhere. It cast towering shadows on the wall behind the Dark Lord and his Death Eater.

There were no doubt wards in place to prevent Snape from apparating away. If the Dark Lord had seen the truth in Snape's mind then he might as well kill himself before he could be twisted completely to the Dark Lord's use.

"Severus, you missed the most enchanting afternoon," Bellatrix said fondly. "We had no end of delightful guests. Some of them asked after you _so _many times."

Snape pushed himself up into a sitting position, placing both palms on the ground to keep himself from sliding back down. He coughed in lieu of speech.

"Yasmin Davison was in your house, was she not?" Bellatrix simpered. "Silly girl seemed to think your name held some sort of cachet." She smiled a smile of perfect insanity. "Thorfin didn't agree."

Snape laughed. It was all he could do.

"Scrimgeour is quite at a loss," the Dark Lord said in malicious satisfaction.

"He's like a particularly stupid gnome," Bellatrix added. "Flung about the countryside so often he doesn't know up from down!" She dissolved into giggles.

"That will do, Bella," the Dark Lord said, his temperament shifting abruptly. "Go about your business. Find a playmate, if they haven't all been taken."

She blew Snape a kiss and swayed out of the room, humming cheerfully. The Dark Lord turned his blood-red eyes on Snape, who projected desperate devotion so hard he all but displaced his consciousness. "My lord," he rasped. "Your mercy, my lord."

The Dark Lord walked past Snape. Snape remained looking directly forward; he would conserve every fragment of strength left in him.

The voice from behind him sent shivers crawling up and down Snape's spine. "What is Dumbledore up to these days, Severus?"

Snape answered the question before he had thought his answer through. Fear was not a rational creature and Snape was not immune. "Outside the castle," he said quickly. "For much of the time."

"Hmmm," the Dark Lord mused, coming ever so slowly closer. "Where is your famous eloquence, my friend? Surely that is not all the response you have for me."

The edges of Snape's vision started to fade. "He tells the staff he seeks to destabilise your — growing hold over the country."

The voice was right behind him then, and delivered at Snape's ear-level. "And in truth?"

"His motives are more personal," Snape said, leaning slightly backwards as though the voice was something to be yearned for rather than fled from. The shiver at the base of his neck coursed down his spine. The Dark Lord could think of it what he liked. "He dwells on the past. I believe his mortality weighs on his mind."

"His mortality?" the Dark Lord repeated avidly. "He weakens?"

"I — think not." Snape considered trying to stand then deemed the thought evidence that he was all but finished. But this was the most important lie to transmit. A thought he should not be thinking even with the Dark Lord behind him rather than in front. "His concern is more generalised. It is — it is possible he — wishes to — to —"

"_Solamens concisus_."

Snape nearly sagged to the floor as the pain and the exhaustion fled from his body. Now the lie could be told deftly, not desperately. Quickly, though: the Dark Lord was not one to offer permanent relief. "It is likely, my lord, that Dumbledore wishes to spread responsibility more broadly over his followers and absents himself from proceedings to further that end. He grows more convinced by the day that victory will depend on not you or him but on those who take the initiative for themselves. He understands that there must be contingencies set in place for the next in line. He wishes —"

"I will _take _my victory, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed furiously. "I will take it from Dumbledore, and from Potter, and from whatever paltry minister stands in my way. They will scream, and they will burn, and they will die. There will be no _next in line_."

Snape remained silent for a fraction of a second too long. "There will be _no_," the Dark Lord snarled, "Next. In. Line. _Crucio_."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel walked into Transfiguration five minutes before the end of class. He didn't bother analysing the various looks he got from around the room; he walked straight up to McGonagall and asked quietly, "Where's Snape?"

Someone coughed loudly from behind him.

"Weasley," McGonagall snapped. "I will not have that language in my classroom. See me after class."

Daniel kept his neck stiff and his attention forwards. "He was looking for me and now he's nowhere. And he has my wand."

"Sit down, Mr. Livingstone," McGonagall said coldly. "There are matters that must be discussed."

Trying to stare McGonagall down would be a bad idea. Daniel took a seat in the vacant front row and tried to keep his feet unclenched. Maybe he should have gone to Flitwick or Sprout. They might not have as much information, since they weren't in the Order, but at least they might share the information they had.

McGonagall dismissed the class, reminded Draco that yes, that did include him, and gave Weasley a detention for seven o'clock with Filch. Then she walked down to Daniel and pulled up a chair to sit opposite him. She fixed him with a beady stare and simply did not move.

Daniel followed her lead for a long moment. She frowned and adjusted her glasses. "I have class in three minutes, Mr. Livingstone. Do you or do you not have something to say to me?"

"I need to find Snape," Daniel said, as if that wasn't perfectly obvious already. "I don't see why I can't find him when he specifically told everyone to tell me I had to talk to him."

McGonagall frowned. "Professor Snape," she corrected.

"Oh, for —"

"The third-year Ravenclaws have Defence Against the Dark Arts at three o'clock," McGonagall said. "I suggest you seek him there."

Daniel shook his head. "He cancelled seventh-year Defence to sort this out. I don't think it's sorted out until he's spoken to me."

McGonagall looked surprised at that. "I'm not being self-important," Daniel said. "I just think Ravenclaw third years aren't his highest priority when Unforgivable Curses have been flying around the school."

"I _am_ sorry Mr. Livingstone, but I cannot throw off my entire schedule to conduct a search of the castle for Professor Snape. You will have to look on your own time. I suggest starting in the place he is scheduled to be." She stood up and resettled her robes.

"Please," Daniel said, springing to his own feet. "Please, if you have some way to contact him. You know … not necessarily a school way. You're Deputy Headmistress — you can _order _him to see you. Can you just try it?"

McGonagall's brows drew together in alarm at the stress he laid on the word 'order'.

Daniel could feel himself getting worked up and didn't have the means to calm down. "Look, he doesn't just disappear. He — before, he —" He just managed not to say anything incredibly embarrassing about Snape sitting by his bed in the hospital wing. Just. "I've been looking for him for nearly an hour."

"Just settle down, Mr. Livingstone," McGonagall said quietly. Daniel could feel a new weight behind her words. She knew, now, that _Daniel_ knew some things. He hoped that wouldn't come back to bite him even though it obviously would. "Professor Snape has many and varied responsibilities and is accessible when and only when he wishes to —"

The door banged open and the sounds of the rest of the school poured into the classroom. There was a brief hush and then the room was filled with muttering and hissing.

Daniel didn't want to walk out through that. He was _tired_. And McGonagall hadn't exactly put his mind at ease about Snape. He rubbed his nose. "Thanks for nothing, I guess," he said.

He should have turned and left after that but his feet were apparently glued to the floor, or his brain had stalled completely. He stared hopelessly at McGonagall, trying to think of a way he could make her like him. "Five points from Slytherin for your disrespect," she said. "I advise patience."

It was fifth-year Transfiguration now. Daniel ran through the list of fifth-years he knew, braced himself to deal with them and turned to leave.

Somehow he'd left Frost off his mental list. That was a pretty monumental oversight. She was hovering at the doorway in between Miller and Summers, the two Hufflepuff prefects in her year. At least Daniel knew she didn't hate him, and if _she_ didn't then anybody who did didn't have their facts straight.

He headed straight to the door, trying not to notice the ferocious glare he was getting from Weasley or the dark looks from the Slytherins. He looked up at Frost as he went past, feeling sheepish. She turned her head completely away from him and Daniel was nearly drowned in the waves of disapproval flowing out of her housemates in his direction.

He wasn't going to take this shit in silence. "I don't suppose you lot have heard of magic being used to control a person," he said with bitter irony. "Or anything about me being invited into Hufflepuff by Muir and Abbott to talk the whole thing over because they thought I wasn't to blame. Or the thing where clearly I'm not a criminal because McGonagall's letting me walk out of here free and easy."

"Didn't take long," someone muttered.

Daniel looked at where the voice had come from. It was Smith who'd said it — he'd bet his wand. If he had one. "Oh yeah?" he responded. "It's all —"

"Be seated," McGonagall ordered crisply. "Mr. Livingstone, be on your way."

Daniel stalked out of the room. "Next thing he'll be claiming it was Imperius," Smith said. "In the fine Slytherin tradition. You'd think—"

Daniel slammed the door as hard as he possibly could.


	15. Grievances

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Blaise swung his feet up to rest on the head of his bed. "Who do you think's going to take them down?"

Daniel had a headache and didn't care. If he had his wand he could go out and keep looking for Snape, but when he'd come face-to-face with Smith, Stebbins and Summers in his earlier efforts he'd undergone the revelation that he was being ridiculous. All they'd done was give him the evil eye but it brought Daniel around to realising what anyone who hated him enough could do to him, him without his wand and all. So here he was back down in the dormitory trying to relax and let the headache fade away. The topic of conversation wasn't helping.

"The Dark Lord won't care," Draco said. "Panicked Muggles are little different from ignorant ones."

"And you'd know."

Draco smiled at Theo but didn't confirm or deny his statement.

"It's not just the Muggles that are relevant here," Blaise said impatiently. "It's a coterie of eleven wizards acting with one purpose."

"That's what a coterie _does_," Draco cut in. "Spare us your bombast."

"Bunch of halfblood wizards making trouble," Crabbe muttered. "Who cares?"

Blaise and Draco shared a look of exasperation that nearly made Daniel laugh despite everything.

"The Cootes are purebloods, Crabbe," Draco said. "And surely you know that Frobisher is."

"It's logic, you see," Blaise added. "His children are all purebloods. So is his sister. And both his parents —"

"He's a Gryffindor," Crabbe retorted. "They all are."

Draco sat bold upright, brows drawn together. "Raymond Coote was in Ravenclaw. Driscoll —"

Crabbe shrugged, unconcerned, and cut Draco off. "Whatever."

"The Ministry's not going to be happy about the Frenchies," Blaise said to Draco. "Foreigners meddling in English business. So impolite."

"The Ministry will be less happy about _British_ wizards standing up to them," Theo put in. "At least if they were all from the continent Scrimgeour could dress it up as another kind of war. This is civil discontent, and they've never been much chop at that."

"Oh, the Ministry _love_ the French," Draco said with a grin.

Theo's voice was dark and dissatisfied. "The rich ones, you mean."

Blaise smiled agreeably and shook his head. "Don't we know it."

Draco basked for a moment, then his eyes clouded over and his face lost all expression.

That was as good an opportunity as any. And it would be kind of Daniel to distract Draco from thinking about his father. Quite a nice segue, actually. "Hey Blaise," he said. "I'd be grateful if you never did anything like today again."

"It speaks," Blaise said dryly. "What are you talking about?"

Daniel shrugged and drew his legs underneath him to sit as casually as he could manage. "The whole Imperius thing," he said. "I didn't appreciate it."

All eyes were on him now. For once, they weren't all uniformly guarded; Daniel had actually said something mildly shocking for once. Even Goyle had looked up from his Herbology book, which he hadn't done the entire time Daniel had been in there. It looked like he'd read about three pages in all that time.

"Oh I did that, did I?" Blaise asked, sounding defensive.

Daniel had been taking a shot in the dark — or the dim, at least — but that reaction told him he may be onto something worth chasing up. Blaise could probably slip and slide around the edges of an indirect accusation, which was fine. Daniel felt like hammering his head in with it anyway. "Yeah, I reckon you did."

It was nice having Blaise wrong-footed. Daniel found himself smiling around the room in a kind of dopey satisfaction. After a moment Goyle dropped his eyes back to his book.

"I didn't," Blaise said fairly convincingly.

"Oh. I guess it must have been Daphne then."

Blaise quickly aborted his violent reaction to that. He ended up perched on the edge of his bed, muscles tense but still. It was a good time to smile at him again but Daniel couldn't make it happen. His mouth turned down; his jaw clenched of its own accord. "I talked to a lot of people today," he said in quiet warning. "They helped me make connections I never would have made otherwise. If you're going to deny having anything to do with it, I suppose I'll have to look closer at those connections. Find some more."

Theo cleared his throat. "Daniel, don't you think this is more a matter for, er, the staff?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Daniel snapped, impatient at the distraction. "What are they going to do about it?"

"What are _you_ going to do about it?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm going to use it to blackmail Blaise for information."

"You don't have a leg to stand on," Blaise proclaimed with injured hauteur. "First, it wasn't me. Second, you haven't told me a single reason anyone might think it was me. Third, I don't have any information that's worth this level of blackmail. Fourth, the penalty for an Unforgivable is life in Azkaban and you wouldn't even inflict that on Lucius Malfoy — you said so yourself."

Daniel's head whipped around to Draco.

"Yes, Daniel, we talk about you behind your back," Draco said while staring curiously at Blaise.

"Okay, whatever," Daniel said. "First, it _was_ you. Second, I can give you the reasons if you want them aired like this. Third, you're full of shit. Fourth, who ever said I'd be blackmailing you with official punishment? Fifth, Lucius Malfoy never did anything to hurt me himself, so he's not much of a comparison. He makes me sick but he doesn't make me half as angry as you do." He had the wisdom not to actually _say _'so there', but he was certainly thinking it at the end of that speech.

"Give me your evidence," Blaise said in a voice that was ever-so-slightly strained.

"Don't," Theo said, actually standing up when Daniel started to reply. "It'll help him."

"Go on," Draco said. "We can deal with this."

Daniel looked back and forth between them. Then he looked at Crabbe, who rolled his eyes and stared pointedly into nowhere. Goyle was still frowning over his textbook.

It had seemed like a good idea all day to confront Blaise directly and get everything sorted out. It still seemed like a good idea right when Daniel was in the middle of it. It wasn't the best idea, sure, but then Snape was nowhere to be found so the best idea wasn't on the table.

Daniel stood up and faced Theo. Theo who he still felt like he knew but who was purposefully turning himself into someone new. Theo, champion of the downtrodden. "What do you think I should do?" Daniel asked him. "Rat to Dumbledore?"

"Bloody hell, Daniel. Schoolboy codes of honour don't extend to Unforgivable Curses. And this didn't just hurt you, you know."

Daniel's voice went flat. "I know that."

"You can't just take this on yourself. You're sixteen."

"Fuck you."

Theo winced and went very still. "I know you don't like Dumbledore. You could tell Snape."

"Who says I haven't?" Daniel snapped. "You don't know everything, Theo, so stop pretending you do." When Blaise slowly got to his feet Daniel whirled around and got in his face. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I was waiting for the evidence," Blaise said. "But it doesn't sound like you have any."

Daniel shoved him back down on the bed. He didn't have his wand, but in the Slytherin dormitories they never used them on each other anyway. It was a rule. And he was willing to bet that Blaise hadn't spent a tenth of the time Daniel had learning how to fight the Muggle way.

"I'm getting to it," he said.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"Snape."

Snape did not want to know the first thing about his physical condition. It was enough to know that he was alive and that his thoughts were moving with some semblance of fluidity.

"Hey Snape."

He wasn't lying on a hard surface any more. Nor was that the Dark Lord or Bellatrix speaking to him. Beyond that, nothing was known. Nothing mattered. Only each breath, each beat of the heart. Each step back to himself.

"_Sir_."

Snape opened his eyes; otherwise he wouldn't have been able to blink in surprise. Perhaps he was back at Hogwarts, in the hospital wing — ordinarily he hated the place, but considering the alternatives it was heaven on earth. But the voice was a man's voice, not a boy's. Familiar, too…

"That's right," the man said. "Eyes open, stay awake. Come on, Snape. I was never good at this healing business. Do you need to go to St. Mungo's?"

"Quiet," Snape croaked. He coughed a little, then lifted his head away from the pillow and tried to focus his eyes.

He found sympathetic blue eyes far closer than he'd been expecting. The man steadied his head with a hand under his jaw and peered at him critically. Snape met the weak Legilimency with steady Occlumency. His success was more than a little heartening.

His head was lowered gently back to the pillow. "You're okay, then." There was relief in the voice, and a good dose of admiration as well. "I should have known it. You're like a bloody cockroach, you are."

"Ventas," Snape said slowly, evenly and painfully. "Stop blathering. If I have any invigoration draughts — the smoky yellow ones — give them to me. Otherwise, be silent."

He tensed up, expecting hands searching through his robes for the potions. Instead Ventas walked somewhere and returned with a vial in each hand. "Do you need me to —"

"Hand them over," Snape said.

"Er …"

Snape used all his residual energy to hoist himself up and turn. He just made it, ending up sitting against the headboard with just enough strength to hold his head up.

He was in a finely-furnished bedroom, but one without the cleanliness and order one tended to associate with purebloods and their aesthetic sensibilities. But then, Ventas came from a long line of Ravenclaws and most of the purebloods Snape had more than a passing acquaintance with were old-blood Slytherins. His perspective was likely skewed.

Snape took the vials that Ventas handed to him, determined not to resent the way the man's hands hovered around his own, expecting a shake or a spill. A cursory inspection told Snape the potions were his own and had not been visibly altered. "My wand," he ordered.

Ventas held up a wand in each hand. "Which one's yours?"

Snape squinted. Both were blackthorn, longish. "Your right hand."

Ventas handed that wand over then twirled the other one about absently. "What's this one then?"

Snape certainly hadn't meant to deprive Livingstone of his wand for so long. He tested the potions in his hand and, satisfied they were as he had left them, downed them in two long swallows. He held out his hand for the other wand.

Ventas weighed it in his hand a second longer before handing it over. "I guess you need to get back to Hogwarts," he said.

Snape got to his feet without too much trouble. He had the energy to push past the pain, at least for now. He stood for a moment quietly relishing the simple capability and looking at the man who had apparently taken care of him.

Ventas had changed a great deal in the few years he had been out of school. He had been a prefect in Ravenclaw and nobody had loved him quite like he loved himself. Even in his seventh year, taking six N.E.W.T.s and sitting in on the class of another, he had had the energy of a ten-year-old in Honeydukes. He had wanted to know about and understand everything and once he felt he had mastered a concept he would dedicate himself to dispersing the knowledge — a king giving a boon to his subjects.

The man standing before Snape stood firmly but wearily. There were lines around his eyes and an unhealthy sag to his face. His beard grew in untidily, a scattering of brown and red.

"If there is anything I must be told, please do so now," Snape told him. "Otherwise I will be on my way."

"Well," Ventas said, taking half a step forwards. "It's more a question."

It had better be quick. Snape felt better but that didn't mean he would be able to keep his feet for any length of time. "Where is the Dark Lord?" he asked sharply.

"Dorset," Ventas said immediately. "Northbrook found Sturgis Podmore's family. Most of them went down."

Snape said nothing.

"_He_ said I should see that you get back to Hogwarts. And that I should talk to you about something else."

Snape would have preferred to remain silent to draw Ventas's thoughts out of him but he could feel himself swaying ever so slightly. He didn't have the time. "Which is?"

Ventas's face smoothed over and he spoke with brisk detachment. "I joined the Death Eaters because nobody else would help me. I offered my service in exchange for a cure. The Dark Lord told me my best chance of a cure was by coming to you. He said the audience he was offering with you was equal in value to my lifelong devotion. So here I am."

Despite the harsh words there was little bitterness in the man's voice. He had had time to come to terms with his insignificance, then. "A cure for _what_, Ventas?"

"I don't _know_," Ventas snapped with a sudden fury that broke his voice and expression both. "I don't know, all right? That's why I need your help!"

Snape reconsidered his classification of Ventas as a man; he hadn't yet outgrown adolescent bursts of self-pity. "I cannot possibly discuss this with you now," Snape said. "I must return to Hogwarts. I will contact you when I have the time."

"But _sir_," Ventas pleaded. "I —"

"No." Snape walked to where Ventas had set out the contents of Snape's robes and started to repack his pockets. "I have my priorities and you are decidedly not one of them."

"You're welcome, then."

Snape ignored the infantile attitude. His imminent departure put him in a good enough mood to dispense some advice. "If you do not want to be dragged down by your own poor decisions, Ventas, then do not make poor decisions in the first place. I will speak with you later."

And then he left.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

There was a knock on the door. Nobody moved to answer it except Goyle, who did so with unthinking regularity. Daniel turned to sit next to Blaise on the bed. As Goyle opened the door he leaned right next to his housemate's ear and whispered, "Frost found your spot behind the portrait."

From as close as he was Daniel could easily feel Blaise's neck tensing up. It was Simon Black in the doorway so Daniel felt free to say just a little more. "Not only that, Frost remembers the exact moment Daphne realised she would make the perfect victim. Vividly."

Blaise turned to look at him. Daniel lifted his chin and faced him brazenly. "And," he said aloud. "Most other possibilities are accounted for."

"What is it, Black?" Draco asked as Blaise pressed his lips together.

"They want Livingstone up in the hospital wing."

"They who?" That was Theo, sticking his nose in again.

"Biros gave me the note from Pomfrey." Black held it out towards Draco.

Daniel sprang to his feet and grabbed it before Draco could. "It says accompanied," he noted. "Why do I always have to be accompanied?"

"Because you're an incurable pervert," Blaise said nastily.

That was just about enough. Draco closed the door on Black as Daniel turned on Blaise. "_I'm_ not the pervert," he snapped as he walked back to the bed. "It's not me who gets his rocks off setting up sexual assault with _mind control_."

"Actually," Blaise said. "I get my rocks off by getting my rocks off. Don't you?"

Daniel considered that. He nodded slowly and tucked Pomfrey's note in his pocket. Then he punched Blaise in the nose and covered up all signs of the pain he felt in his hand by leaning down to where Blaise was now lying back on the bed. "I'm not your pawn," he hissed.

Blaise covered his nose with one hand and closed his eyes. From his expression, he was tasting blood in his mouth. He spoke through it. "The king's the most important chess piece," he said thickly. "The queen's the most powerful."

Daniel still felt triumphant but the edge was being taken off it by confusion. God, he hated Blaise.

Blaise swallowed with a grimace and then sat up shakily. Daniel let him.

"King and queen get played, exactly the same as every other piece," Blaise finished, reaching into his pocket for his wand and blinking his eyes rapidly. "If you're seeing yourself as any kind of piece at all you're doing it wrong." He cast Episkey on his face and rubbed his nose. "You see that now?"

"I am not learning a life lesson from you," Daniel declared. He turned away. "Who's coming with me to the hospital wing?"

Draco and Theo volunteered in the same breath. Blaise groaned and lay down again.

Daniel looked between his two roommates. It was a sign of how much had changed that Draco would probably be the far more agreeable companion. But then, there was no need to choose. If they both loved his company so much, they could fight over him. Or go together.

He shared out one smile between the two of them and opened the door.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Livingstone walked into the hospital wing apprehensively, both Nott and Malfoy with him. Snape was in one of the concealed beds which afforded him an excellent view of proceedings without any danger of being discovered. The spells Poppy had cast to speed his recovery left him rather hazy and agreeable and the last thing he wanted was to have to converse with students in such a state.

Poppy bustled over to the three of them. "Well, you took your time, didn't you?" she tutted. "Run along, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott."

"What's the matter with him?" Nott asked defiantly and rather rudely.

"Now that's hardly your business, is it young man? Out with you, now."

Nott looked like he wanted to protest again but thought better of it and turned on his heel. Livingstone brushed his hand against Malfoy's arm. Snape couldn't see Livingstone's face or the details of the gesture he made but Malfoy frowned, nodded and followed Nott out of the room.

Livingstone followed Poppy to her office. "Here you are, then," she said, producing his wand and passing it to him. "Professor Snape asked me to pass this on to you."

Livingstone tensed then snatched his wand out of her hand.

"Now, there's no need for that," Poppy scolded him. "Where are your manners?"

"Thank you Madam Pomfrey where's Snape?" Livingstone said breathlessly.

"He came through, dear," Poppy lied easily. "He wanted me to make sure you were unharmed but had pressing business of his own to attend to."

"He shouldn't go handing off my wand to other people," Livingstone announced. "How hard is it to meet me somewhere and give it to me himself? Where was he?"

Other than her excessive use of the word 'dear', which always emerged when she was under stress, Poppy made an excellent liar. "Now, dear, I am not privy to Professor Snape's personal or professional business. Come sit down here and let me —"

Livingstone brushed her off. "I'm fine," he said. "Dumbledore saw me before. Did Frost — Xavier — come in here this afternoon?"

Poppy's face went stiff. "I will not be discussing that with you, young man."

Livingstone took a long, slow breath. He hadn't put his wand away yet. "If Snape's in here — I'm not saying he is — can you ask him if I can have a word? Or if you know where he is, just ask him. Tell him — just tell him I need to talk to him. I'll wait outside if you want to save face or something."

"Now Mr. —"

"Thanks." Livingstone hurried outside.

Poppy frowned after him then walked up to Snape's bed. "Well you heard what he said," she told him, resting her wand at his temple for a moment. "I hardly need remind you that to speak to him would be unwise."

Snape raised his eyebrows at her. "You think I am tempted to invite him in?"

She gave him a strained smile and moved her wand over his heart. "In this state I probably know you better than you know yourself." She swallowed and avoided his eyes. "Every time you come in here, Severus, it's worse than the time before. These things take their toll on the body, you know, even with the cures we have on hand."

Snape mumbled indistinctly. There was really nothing to be said about the situation they were in. Snape's actions were necessary, and right now he was situated very pleasantly indeed. In a bed, being looked after by someone who didn't think less of him for it. Other issues were appropriate for other times.

"He —" Poppy began, before cutting herself off.

"Hm?"

"Livingstone was in here earlier this afternoon," she said. It sounded like she was speaking against her better judgement. "Very little of his distress was centred on his own predicament; he worried about you."

Snape frowned.

"I don't venture to tell you your business, Severus, but if you don't tell him something I don't think he will accept unexplained absences for long."

And there would no doubt be plenty of those. Snape nodded his understanding and closed his eyes.

"Well, you seem well enough for the time being," Poppy said. Snape could hear the sound of her hands brushing down her apron. "I'll go and shoo him off, if he's lingering."

"No," Snape said quickly, opening his eyes a fraction. "He will take that as evidence you have spoken to me. He has his wand now; let him wait as long as he likes. No need to justify his paranoia."

Poppy gave him an amused look, nodded and set off.

"Thank you, Poppy," Snape said unthinkingly.

She smiled at him and closed the curtains behind her. Not three seconds later the door banged open and Snape heard Draco Malfoy shouting something about Livingstone's hand being broken. The ridiculous child had always had a tendency towards melodrama.

Livingstone was ushered in and the door closed behind him. He looked around in muted triumph and announced, "I did it by accident." He held his left hand up by the fingers then let go. The hand sagged down bonelessly. "Whoops. I was just so _happy_ to get my wand back."

Snape smiled. Livingstone wouldn't be so sassy about his master plan in the middle of the night when the Skele-Gro was getting its hooks into him. Snape very nearly took points for coming up with such a clumsy plan before closing his mouth tightly. It wouldn't do for Snape to speak such a criticism only to reveal his presence and in so doing ensure the success of the plan. Quite against the spirit of things.

He realised dimly that his eyelids were drooping. "_Why_ can't he have visitors?" Malfoy asked as Snape let his consciousness fade.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Maybe the bone-removal spell hadn't been such a good idea after all. It wasn't hard to stay awake, that was for sure, but Daniel could have done without the constant stabbing pains in his hand. Pomfrey was probably holding back painkillers just to spite him. No doubt when Potter had been in the hospital wing for the exact same injury he'd been treated like a prince, not left to writhe about in pain all night.

But then if Daniel's hand didn't hurt so much he'd probably be asleep and that would defeat the whole purpose of the stay. Daniel gritted his teeth and bore it. He practised Occlumency for a while, then just meditation plain and simple. Daniel knew there were spells over all the beds to tell Pomfrey which of her patients were asleep and awake but he doubted she waited up every night to monitor them.

When he positively could not wait any longer he transfigured his scarf into a sling for his hand and ventured outside his bed. No lights came on in Pomfrey's office so Daniel risked lighting his wand.

Something was obviously going on. Snape wouldn't just vanish, and Pomfrey wasn't above lying to her students about every little thing she felt like. Something about doctor-patient confidentiality or whatever wizard words they used for the same stupid idea. If Snape had been in the hospital wing when Daniel had gone in, he'd have guessed Pomfrey would treat them exactly as she really had. And she'd had his wand, for goodness sake. If that wasn't a dead giveaway, nothing was. That had to mean Snape wanted Daniel to find him. He'd never leave such obvious clues hanging around otherwise.

He cast Homenum Revelio first and was quite staggered when it showed him not only that Pomfrey — or somebody else — was in a room behind her office but also that there was a person behind the corner nearest the office. He hadn't really been expecting it to work.

A light came on in the office. Daniel swore and hurried over to the corner. He cast Finite Incantatum — to no effect — but then Pomfrey was marching over in her pink dressing gown and Daniel slipped his wand back up his sleeve. "I forgot where I was," he said hurriedly. He'd had a better excuse in mind, but forgotten it. It was getting a bit hard to concentrate.

"Spare us both the fabrications, Mr. Livingstone, and hop back in bed," Pomfrey said wearily. She put a hand on his shoulder and steered him away again. "Whatever you are trying to achieve, let it at least wait until morning."

"Maybe you should inform my head of house immediately," he mumbled. "I'm being intransigent."

"Do I need to take away your wand?"

"No!" Daniel clenched his fists. Stabs of pain shot through his left hand. "Owww." He blinked tears out of his eyes.

"I am sure you will be able to see Professor Snape tomorrow," Pomfrey said soothingly, pulling the blankets back for him. Daniel shot her a disgusted look but slipped in without complaining about being treated like a child. Maybe he should get some sleep. He'd had kind of a big day. He fumbled the sling off and lazily restored it to its original form.

Hopefully the knowledge that there was a hidden passageway or room within thirty feet of his bed would be able to keep him awake, especially in combination with the horrendous sensation of the Skele-Gro working. He could relax his body, which was tired, but he wouldn't fall asleep just yet.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape was still heavily sedated when Dumbledore arrived to receive his report some time in the early hours of morning. He was certainly a great deal more drowsy that was preferable. It was moderately difficult to focus on the man's words and even more difficult to formulate a coherent account of the day's events — even after having spent most of his waking minutes in the hospital wing attempting to do so.

Dumbledore, for his part, was not forthcoming. Not about Podmore's family in Dorset, not about the "playmates" the Dark Lord had directed Bellatrix towards earlier. He steered clear of the situation within the school, though that could easily be because he was barely aware of it himself. His sympathy was restricted to a gentle inquiry about Snape's state of mind and whether there would be a better time for the conversation.

Snape told him of Mark Ventas's situation and the potential to turn him away from the Dark Lord. Dumbledore sat quietly by the bed and steepled his fingers. "There are more pressing issues to attend to," he said calmly. "You have done well, Severus."

Snape felt vague outrage at the condescension but could think of no concise way to express the feeling. When he thought about it a little more he wondered how much outrage was his and how much was on Ventas's behalf. Snape usually had no sympathy for Death Eaters but at the moment he wasn't quite himself.

He had almost thought of a biting comment when Dumbledore spoke again. "I find myself concerned that Voldemort found it necessary to cast the Cruciatus so many times to little advantage."

A bitter taste rose in Snape's mouth at the memory of it. "Yes," he managed to agree.

Dumbledore sat deep in thought. Snape started to drift off, back into all-too-recent memories of pain and terror and then deeper, the pain replaced with medicated bliss and the terror replaced with memories-of-memories. The recollections were hazy but all the more drenched in significance because of it. Unsurprisingly Dumbledore featured prominently in the foggy recollections. _You disgust me_, followed by _she and James put their faith in the wrong person_, followed by _you disgust me_, followed by _she and James put their faith in the wrong person_, followed by _rather like you, Severus_.

Something drew him out of the dream and he blinked his eyes to see Dumbledore rising quietly from his seat. "The Dark Lord," Snape said, just to hold the headmaster back from leaving and give Snape enough time to deliver a coherent sentence in the next moment.

Dumbledore smoothed down the front of his robes and waited expectantly. Snape found himself thinking, _You disgust me_ and didn't know how to classify the thought. A memory, a burst of self-loathing, a bitter thought, a revelation. It was all the same. "The Dark Lord's madness has passed beyond my comprehension," he said groggily. "Something has turned him in a direction that I cannot follow."

"Cannot, Severus?" There was warning in Dumbledore's tone. A hint of a threat.

Hostility was always a good way to enliven Snape's being. He sat up a little straighter. "If nothing else the Dark Lord's recent actions show him to be indifferent towards me and my service. He favours others, now, and offers me little in the way of information or privilege."

Dumbledore shook his head. "You are far more resourceful than you give yourself credit for," he said with avuncular benevolence. "You are understandably disconcerted and still recuperating. I will speak with you again when you are more yourself."

Snape _was _himself. That, he knew, was what pain and fear did to a person; it revealed them for who they were. He knew from long experience that Dumbledore preferred to see only the masquerade. The headmaster did not understand the power of the unmasking, of the interplay between the two worlds. He wanted only to live in the safer one.

Snape made the effort and put on the mask. "There are other ways for me to be of use, Albus," he said. "I am little good to anybody incapacitated as I am. I have little doubt I am likely to be so regularly if we continue along the same course we have been. I cannot both align myself to the Dark Lord's erratic behaviour and fulfil regular duties as potions master, let alone as head of Slytherin or as your consultant and assistant."

"But, Severus," Dumbledore said. "You must."

Snape closed his eyes. That was all the mask he could sustain. "I do not want to subject myself to this, Albus," he said. "Not in vain."

Dumbledore sat down again and clasped one of Snape's hands in both of his. "Your efforts are not in vain," he promised quietly. "That which we undertake now is crucial to the future we are attempting to shape. You have proven to me, time and time again, that you have the courage to do that which most men would shrink from. I know you will not fail her now."

This speech left Snape cold. He had heard it all before. Dumbledore did not listen; he only spoke. Snape, however, had turned listening into an art form. He heard the careful flattery, the vague promises and the pointed reminder far louder than he heard the words used to deliver them.

He heard the message as it came from behind the mask:_ You will do as I tell you, for reasons I will never tell you, in order to sustain your pride and keep the promise you made on behalf of the only person you have ever loved_. He had heard similar sentiments behind Dumbledore's words countless times but never before with such ringing clarity.

The only person he had ever loved. Lily Evans. Lily had been fierce, and proud, and painfully independent. She had ripped herself away from Snape over one telling insult; she had fallen very publicly in love with James Potter despite her earlier contempt for him and without a care for what people thought of the hasty reversal. The past was just things that had happened; only Lily could decide what happened next. She did as she pleased, and her son, curse him, was exactly the same.

In the time Snape had known Lily she had changed from a sweet, generous little girl to a carefree and passionate one, and then to a staunch friend and vehement protector, and then to a woman scorned, then to a frosty acquaintance. Then, of course, she became the untouchable girlfriend of another boy, a decorous prefect, a dignified Head Girl, a devoted wife, a merciless freedom fighter, a loving mother, the hunted, the hidden, the dead.

All that in the space of twelve years, and here was Snape fifteen years after her death still walking the same path, listening to the same meaningless words, still trusting the man he had trusted to keep her safe all those years ago. Walking through fire time and time again for that man, for the sake of that old promise.

Lily and James had put their faith in Black, or at least in his suggestion that they trust Pettigrew with their lives. Snape had put his faith in Dumbledore, who had promised to protect Lily. Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age. Dumbledore, who had observed that momentous promise to Snape by doing nothing — letting Potter and Lily be swayed by Black into putting their lives into the hands of a weakling. Dumbledore was right: Lily and James _had _put their faith in the wrong person. Rather like Snape had.

But where Lily's mistake had been explosive, devastating and irredeemable, Snape had sat festering in his for years. Lily would have called it pathetic, even if she had loved Snape more dearly than life itself — she was like that.

Snape's slow smile was a wistful one but that was only because Dumbledore was watching. "No," he said. "I will not."


	16. Common Ground

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"You have five minutes, Livingstone. Hurry up."

Daniel blinked up out of sleep and at Snape, sitting right at the end of his bed. On his bed. Kind of leaning against the post at the end. He looked pretty bad.

"I was given to believe you wished to speak to me quite urgently." Snape's voice rasped. His tone was as empty as Daniel had ever heard it.

Daniel tried to wake up all the way. It was hard to remember why exactly he'd been so determined to talk to Snape. He supposed it was just not knowing where the man was — now he did, everything seemed much less urgent.

He drew himself up to sit against the pillows. "I'm pretty sure it was Blaise or Daphne who cursed me yesterday. And I told Blaise I thought so already. He wouldn't tell me why he did it so I thought you should probably find out so we know if he's lost his mind or what."

"I see."

Snape really looked ghastly. Daniel couldn't see a smidgen of that restrained energy he was usually brimming with. Just a relaxed kind of stolidness. Stolidness? Stolidity? "Where were you?"

Snape blinked four times before opening his mouth. "I was interacting with the Dark Lord," he said. Again, he didn't sound like himself. It was like everything he said was a slight surprise to him and he had to stop and recover from it before trying again. "At some length."

Daniel didn't know what to say. Apparently, neither did Snape. Daniel was starting to suspect he was dreaming the whole thing.

"Well," Snape said. He pushed himself off the bed and held onto the end of it to steady himself. "If that was all, I will return to my own bed before Poppy discovers me out of it and has conniptions." He took another of those long pauses. "I will speak with you after class tomorrow evening." His dark eyes sought out Daniel's and held them. The gaze was endlessly bland.

Daniel swallowed. "Okay."

Snape nodded at him and shuffled away. Daniel watched the curtains settle, frowning. It was too weird for him to begin to understand. He slid back down in the bed and curled up, avoiding thought altogether. Without thought there was nothing to keep him awake. He slept.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape hit the wall at two thirty in the afternoon, a mere half-hour before his one break for the day. He wasn't even doing anything when it happened: that was the benefit of classes consisting entirely of Ravenclaws. All one had to do was give them a sufficiently advanced problem and they motivated themselves. Add elements of competition and reward and there was little need for supervision.

Nevertheless, Snape hated feeling anything less than in full control, especially when surrounded by adolescents. He watched them through half-closed eyes. Of the six students in the class, only four were still writing at full speed. James Larse was staring vacantly forwards and spinning his quill absently and messily around his fingers. Joan Wells had apparently forgotten herself; she was watching Larse keenly without thought for the ink seeping into her parchment.

Half an hour more of this. Then an hour of sleep, an hour of first years and then the sixth for two more. He could give the first years a test from a previous year but there would be no slacking off in the class after that. It was a terrible shame that it would be both illegal and unprofessional to cast a Sleeping Charm over the whole room so he could get some much-needed rest.

Larse snapped back to life and started to write so fiercely that his parchment was in danger of being ripped to shreds. Wells started guiltily and quickly looked back to her work. Colour rose in her cheeks when she saw the blot she had left.

"Five more minutes," Snape said. He was treated to five identical indignant faces staring across at him. Harriet Ides' only reaction was to write a little faster.

"Sir!" Orla Quirke protested. "You said we had the whole hour!"

Snape hadn't the energy to do more than direct mild contempt in her direction. She gulped and dropped her eyes. Her housemates followed her lead and Snape began to count down from three hundred.

Ides set her quill aside neatly when he was down to forty-three. There was a last-minute frenzy of scribbling and as soon as Snape said, "Done," the quills were flat on desks.

Snape gave them all a wintry smile. "Events do not always proceed as expected," he said sagely. "There is no shortage of unpleasant surprises waiting for you in the future. Adjust to them and make the most of the occasions on which advantages fall your way unexpectedly. You may leave." It was a pathetic effort to turn his exhaustion into something resembling a life lesson. Though his students were only in third year, they were the sharpest of their year and Snape doubted they were fooled.

They were out of the room within thirty seconds, their critiques of Humbert's Theory of Autonomy stacked neatly on the desk in front of him. Snape slid them into a drawer and eased himself over to the fireplace. Then he forced himself back and sat down to find an old test to throw in front of the first years. He made the required twenty-six copies, rearranged the furniture and directed a test onto each desk. Then he forced himself to his feet again and made his way to the Floo.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel sat in Transfiguration feeling kind of sick for no reason in particular. Probably something to do with all the stories flying around the school about him. The only people in the room who were treating him like normal were Millicent, Dean and McGonagall. Some of the others were trying, but failing dismally. The Hufflepuffs in particular were making a valiant attempt not to put a foot wrong but their suspicion of him was painfully obvious. Maybe if Abbott took Transfiguration they'd be doing a little better. Daniel would even be thankful if Blaise was in the class, since at least he knew without a doubt that Daniel hadn't done it.

"What am I doing wrong?" Pansy whinged. She scratched her hedgehog under the chin and sighed heartily. "I wish she'd explain it more clearly."

"She explained it three times," Draco said almost patiently. "I told you you needed to do the reading."

"I was busy!"

Daniel stared at the hedgehog in front of him. It was ignoring the small slugs Daniel had provided it in favour of poking at his textbook. He didn't feel like forcing its consciousness into the fist-sized beanbag behind the book, so he didn't. Let it snuffle about. It wasn't like Daniel needed the practice.

"Daniel," Pansy said. "What am I doing wrong?"

Draco smirked a little, waved his wand and his hedgehog fell limp to the desk. Daniel shrugged and rested his chin on his palm.

"Did you remember the third intersection?" Millicent asked.

"Yes," Pansy snapped. "Of course I did, I'm not stupid."

McGonagall came around to them. Draco struck his triumphant pose, muttered under his breath, waved his wand and smiled smugly as his hedgehog raised its head and rolled to its feet.

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said stonily. "Five points. Miss Parkinson?"

Pansy lifted her wand glumly and started to mumble. McGonagall's disapproving look convinced Daniel that some Slytherin solidarity was called for. He cast the spell for Pansy in silence, waiting until exactly the right moment for it to match up with her incantations.

If Pansy was only an even slightly good actor he would have gotten away with it. McGonagall's surprised look was matched by Pansy's as her hedgehog fell limp. Daniel unfocussed his eyes just before McGonagall turned to look at him. It wasn't like she could prove it was him, or like it would matter if she did. There were no rules against practising on other people's hedgehogs.

"Please put your wand down, Mr. Livingstone," McGonagall said dryly. "I would like to determine Miss Parkinson's abilities, not yours."

Daniel flicked his wand onto the desk carelessly. Pansy sighed and lifted hers again. Daniel hadn't done this particular spell wandlessly before but he had plenty of practice with similar spells. So he timed it even more carefully and let loose at the exact right moment, returning the hedgehog's core to its body.

Pansy failed at subtlety again but that was no surprise.

"Wand _down_, Mr. Livingstone," McGonagall snapped without looking at him.

"Oh, for — I don't have my wand," Daniel said. He pointed at it when she turned her head. She saw it, frowned, and looked from Daniel to Draco to Daphne to Millicent. Sadly, everyone knew it would be pointless to try and argue that Pansy might have managed the spell herself.

"All of you, wands down," McGonagall said. "Or I will take points."

Daniel didn't know whether Pansy put her own wand down to be funny or because she was actually that stupid. Either way, he should probably own up before Madam Head of Gryffindor House bit the poor girl's head off. "Oh, I did the spell," he said. "It's got to be terrifying for a hedgehog for its brain to be stuck out of its body for so long and Pansy's not quite got the hang of it yet. Thoughtful of me, I know. Always considerate of beasts, great and small."

McGonagall gave him her full attention for the first time. "Do not interfere with Miss Parkinson's hedgehog," she said. "Is that clear enough for you?"

"Oh," Daniel said. "I thought I might get some points for the sophisticated wandless wordless transfiguration. It did take me quite a long time to learn. My mistake."

She turned gimlet eyes on him. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Livingstone, for your rudeness."

Daniel snorted. "Nice to have a number for the bias, I suppose."

Her voice grew brittle. "If you wish to remain in this classroom, young man, you will modify your behaviour."

By now, of course, everyone was listening. "Okay, sure," Daniel said. "I'll just write up my formal complaint then."

"What are you _talking_ about, Mr. Livingstone?"

Daniel shrugged and couldn't help but smile. "You didn't have a problem when Sirius Black did the exact same stunt in his sixth year. You rewarded him. I get that you might get a bit stricter over a dozen years, but sixty points worth? I call that bias."

The room fell into a deep, shocked silence. Daniel was tempted to look for Potter's reaction but it was more important to face down McGonagall. She was lost for words, but Daniel didn't think it would last for long. So he made the most of it. "Magnificent, you called it," he said. "Sure you scolded him for being rude or whatever, but you also gave him fifty points for his 'exceptional accomplishment'. Those exact words."

Daniel watched her lips turn white. A wrinkly old woman, set in her ways and used to being in charge. No less an old woman for all the magic she could do and all the authority she had. She probably wouldn't be around much longer, with all those curses she'd taken last year and the whole war being on and everything. There was no _point_ wasting respect on someone like that. She may have been impressive in the past, but she sure as hell wasn't the future.

"Don't you dare deny it," Daniel said when her mouth opened.

"Out of my class," she said sharply. "You have a detention with me tonight at eight. I do not want to see you until then. Miss Parkinson. Demonstrate."

Daniel got his things together. He lifted the hedgehog carefully and took it with him. If McGonagall called him back for it then she'd be going against her I-don't-want-to-see-you parental schtick. And Gryffindors never went back on their word.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A room of two dozen motley eleven year olds was not as easily engaged as six Ravenclaw teenagers. The first years were starting to move past the point of being intimidated to the limit-testing stage. Credit to the Slytherins among them: once they realised Snape was taking points for the slightest hint of transgression they settled down and worked on the test. All except Cearo Tesla, who was doing her best to distract Rainard Javed in what Snape recognised as a long-established behaviour pattern. Snape did not reward her successful attempts with points from Hufflepuff and she desisted soon enough.

Most of the Ravenclaws were sneaking looks at each others' work. There was no need to discourage that since the tests didn't count for anything.

The Gryffindors stayed restrained for approximately forty minutes. Then, as if prearranged, Robins leaned back in his chair, Zarketh tipped him over, Green sneezed and Eames' quill slipped, somehow knocking her elbow into Acuzio's arm. She swore at him as Robins yelped in surprise then grunted as he hit the floor.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said wearily. Teresa Kent giggled. "And one from Ravenclaw. The next person to disturb the class will have detention with Mr. Filch and will fail the assessment."

Robins clambered to his feet and shot Snape a reproachful look, rubbing his neck. Snape met his gaze, too tired to delve into the thoughts behind it. The boy set his chair back in place and slouched into it. Quills scratched over parchment. Snape's thoughts drifted to the future.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel had more than an hour until his next class and was regretting having brought the hedgehog with him in his dramatic exit. What the hell was he supposed to do with it? It wasn't like setting it free in the school grounds was going to give it a long and prosperous life. And he doubted Gwion would want to eat the prickly thing. Hagrid wouldn't want it, either. It had spikes, sure, but they weren't exactly lethal. Did anyone have a birthday coming up?

"Livingstone!"

Daniel whirled and winced as his hands tightened around the spiky little animal. Potter was standing about forty feet away with his hands in his pockets. Nobody had come with him, apparently.

"Hey," Daniel said, glancing around to take stock of the portraits. Three old women in fluorescent robes, a shiny black dragon and a cow. None of them looked like reliable witnesses. The cow was asleep.

"How did you know that?" Potter called down the corridor. Daniel settled the hedgehog into the pocket of his robes and made sure his wand was close to hand. He felt sorry for Potter, but he resented him more. He wouldn't be surprised if the conversation ended in violence, and if it did he wasn't going to be the one worse for wear.

"How did you know?" Potter repeated.

Daniel shrugged. "I made it up."

"Liar."

Daniel felt himself smiling. It was a natural reaction to being called a liar, one that he'd only really developed after being sorted into Slytherin. Like being accused of deceit proved the Sorting Hat right, and he was where he belonged. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, I am."

Potter started to walk slowly towards him. "Dean and Seamus don't really talk about you, but I know they get along with you," he ventured. "You sit with them on the train."

Daniel shrugged. "They sit with me."

Potter stopped and regarded him with curiosity. "Hermione says you'll say anything to get a rise out of somebody."

"Draco says you're an arrogant one-eyed tosspot with a superiority complex and the whole school wrapped around your little finger," Daniel countered. "So what?"

He didn't miss the way Potter's head shifted when he heard Draco's name, or the slightly more casual pose he struck afterwards. "I heard you're his cousin."

"Got any opinions of your own in there?" Daniel asked. "Or are you just here to update me on the latest gossip about me?"

"How did you know that about Sirius?"

There were quiet voices coming from close behind Daniel. "Someone's coming," he said.

Potter shook his head. "I don't care. And don't tell me you made it up. It really rattled McGonagall."

Daniel frowned. Potter wasn't shouting, Daniel was able to think of something other than how it was Potter's fault Sirius was dead, neither of them seemed to be expecting to be attacked by the other at any moment, and neither of them had insulted the other's House yet. He was just about to ask Potter to prove he wasn't actually someone likeable on Potter Polyjuice when the Gryffindor boy took half a step back and opened his mouth.

Daniel turned his head and saw Chang, Edgecombe and Frost walking towards them. Edgecombe was wearing a headscarf, Chang was a little pink and Frost was glaring daggers past Daniel at Potter. Which was odd, because it was Daniel who had only yesterday attacked both of her siblings in the corridors.

The three Ravenclaw girls walked past in complete silence. Potter held Frost's gaze and barely blinked. Neither of the others made any kind of eye contact. Then they were around a corner and gone.

"Um," Daniel said. "What's with that?"

Potter scowled. "Marietta betrayed our Defence group to Umbridge."

Oh, yeah. _Dumbledore's Army._ Daniel didn't want to start in on how Umbridge may have been an improvement on Dumbledore so he just shrugged and waited.

"Did Snape tell you?"

"Look, we can't talk about this here," Daniel said. "There's people everywhere, it's ridiculous."

"I've got nothing to hide," Potter said defiantly. "Do you?"

Someone tall and gangling burst out of the Transfiguration classroom way down the corridor and started to run towards them. He skidded to a halt as soon as he saw them and started to walk with long, sure strides instead. It was Weasley, and he made it up to them remarkably quickly. Now Daniel shifted his hand closer to his wand; who knew what ridiculous conclusions Weasley would leap to?

"Harry!" Weasley said. "What are you doing?"

Potter scowled at him. "Talking. It's fine."

"To _him_?"

"You heard what he said about Sirius."

"Yeah, I did. Do I have to remind you that Slytherins are full of shit?"

"Everyone's full of shit," Daniel cut in. "It's a natural byproduct of the digestive system."

Weasley completely ignored him. "You've got to come back to class, Harry. McGonagall's getting really snappy."

"Yeah, well, the truth hurts," Daniel said. "Boo fucking hoo."

"Oh yeah, and your precious Snape's so bloody impartial," Weasley snapped. "At least McGonagall does give Slytherin points from time to time."

"Yeah, because I'm really concerned about winning the House Cup," Daniel sneered. "It's all that matters to me. I dream about it every night, and decide all of my actions according to how many _points_ they'll win for me in the hope that one day —"

"Mattered to you a hell of a lot back in class," Weasley said. "You were practically crying. _Oh Professor, I deserve so many points because I'm so very advanced at transfiguration_ —"

"Ron," Potter said. "Leave it."

"Come _on_, Harry. What's this little shit to you? He's Malfoy's _cousin, _after pretending to be Muggleborn all this time. Whatever he says he knows about Sirius, why should you listen to him?"

"I'm _trying_ to work it out," Potter told him.

"Fine," Weasley said. He folded his arms over his chest and glared at Daniel. "Work it out."

"I never pretended to be Muggleborn," Daniel said. "I just didn't know if I was or not. People assumed whatever they liked."

"And you just happen to find out about having wizarding blood now You-Know-Who's back? And you happen to have stories about Sirius now that he's dead and can't speak for himself? Whatever happened to your Muggle parents, anyway? You used to be so proud of them, Hermione said. Now there's no Muggle Studies and you're a wizard like the rest of us."

Daniel locked his limbs in place and forced all his fury out in the one sentence. If he lost it here there'd be no crying Imperius afterwards and he didn't fancy his chances quite so well now there were two of them. "A real wizard like the rest of you purebloods, eh?"

"No," Weasley said quickly. "That's not what I meant."

"It's what you said," Daniel pointed out in his most sugary tones. "Wizards who talk a lot about the Muggle world aren't real wizards — _like the rest of us_. Now who's the hypocrite?"

"Both of you _shut up_," Potter snapped. "Ron, do you think this is helping?"

"You want to know why I never tested my blood for magical heritage, Weasley?" Daniel said. "It's because unlike some people, I think that the whole idea is completely irrelevant. And unlike _some_ people, I stood by that when it was challenged, and I didn't try to prove I was pureblooded even when it would made my life easy in Slytherin."

"But now you have. Now it is."

"They think I'm second or third cousins with Draco, yeah. It's hard to tell and I don't know that much about blood relations myself. Being Muggle-raised, and all."

"So —"

"You're third cousins with him yourself, I wouldn't get so hoighty-toighty about it."

"I'm —"

"I'm just saying. Base your arguments on bloodlines and you really ought to stop claiming to be enlightened."

"Ron, go back to class," Potter said wearily.

"Like hell I will," Weasley said stubbornly. "I'm not leaving you alone with him."

Potter stuck his jaw out. "It's my choice."

A bunch of second-year Hufflepuffs saw them, fell silent and turned right back the way they had come.

"Tell McGonagall you couldn't find me," Potter told Weasley. "Or him."

Weasley glowered at them both but took a couple of steps back. "Watch out for him," he advised Potter. "And you, Livingstone or whatever your real name is, this is on your head."

"I didn't exactly ask for you all to come running out after me," Daniel pointed out.

"I've handled worse," Potter said at the exact same time.

Weasley looked slightly ill, but turned away from them and marched back to the classroom.

"Come on," Potter said. "Last thing I need is for Hermione to come out after me as well." He started quickly down the corridor.

"You heard what happened yesterday, right?" Daniel asked as he jogged to keep up. "If I start to do anything fucked up, go right ahead and stun me."

"I heard," Potter said grimly. "But Dean swears up and down you'd never have done it and Seamus backs him up. So I don't know."

"Is it true you're immune to Imperius?"

"I'm not immune," Potter said. "I can fight it off. There's a difference."

When they reached the stairs Potter turned to walk upwards. Daniel felt a tingle of foreboding. The higher up they went, the further it was into Gryffindor territory and further away from the majority of the students. And Potter was being awfully friendly without much reason for it. Maybe Sirius would scoff and call him _timid_ again, but it really wasn't smart to go haring after Potter like this.

"Hey, Harry," a male voice said from the floor above. "I thought you had Transfiguration?"

Potter looked down at Daniel then up to the speaker. "I was, uh, let out early."

Well, he was a fairly bad liar. That was reassuring.

"I was thinking about the weekend's tryouts," the voice continued. "I know Weasley saved more passes than I did, so I understand that he's Keeper. But if you'd ever like me to help with training I'm sure there's lots of —"

"Yeah thanks, Cormac," Potter said. "I'll remember that."

"I know Johnson kept most of Wood's tactics last year and fair enough, too," Cormac said. "But I think with such a new team there's a lot to be said for a reconfiguration of our gameplay. Maybe you need a new perspective — it can be difficult as a Seeker to —"

"_Thanks_, Cormac," Potter said. "I'll talk to you about it later."

"Maybe at Sluggy's next party, eh Potter?"

"Yeah, great."

Daniel could hear the footsteps from the floor beneath as Cormac strode off. "Jesus," he said, catching up to Potter on the stairs. "Talk about taking a hint."

Potter sighed and started to climb the stairs again. "Yeah."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet."

"Oh, perfect. So nobody can hear us scream."

Potter stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"We should go out onto the grounds. There'll be loads of people, so nobody will get away with any shenanigans. But there's plenty of room, and privacy charms go down fine."

Potter scanned their surroundings quickly then leaned in. "Just tell me now," he said in a low, urgent voice. "Then we'll see. How did you hear that story?"

Daniel's heart started thumping. "Sirius told it to me."

Potter jerked back like he'd been given an electric shock. "What?"

Daniel couldn't do anything but meet those enormous green eyes, wide with shock and a hint of panic. If Potter snapped here things could get ugly. "He told me."

"He — you — he _told _you? He told _you_?"

Daniel shrugged and tore his eyes away. "I knew him," he told his boots. "I helped him in third year."

Potter sank slowly down to sit on a step. He looked completely and utterly lost. "I should have listened to Ron," he said. "This isn't — that's ridiculous."

"How did you think I heard it? From my best friend Lupin?"

"Harry? Are you okay?"

More bloody Gryffindors. Daniel looked up to see Longbottom making his way down the stairs, fishing in his pocket for, presumably, his wand. Potter didn't seem to have heard him.

"He's fine," Daniel said. "He's thinking."

"Harry?"

"Just fuck _off_, Longbottom."

"You'll be late for Defence," Longbottom persisted in that wavering voice of his. "Thomas said Snape's in the strangest mood he's ever seen him in, no joke."

"I guess you wouldn't want to be late then," Daniel pointed out. "He might be cross, and then you'd probably piss your pants."

"Lay off Neville," Potter said. He'd lifted his head and was staring at Daniel again. "He's stood up to much worse than Snape, and will again. Go on, Neville, it's fine. Tell Ron everything's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Longbottom gave Daniel a dubious look but shuffled down the stairs and onwards to Defence. Once he'd gone Daniel sat down on the same step as Potter, but as far to the side as he could. "He's right, you know. Snape will be _pissed_."

"I couldn't care less about making Snape angry," Potter said flatly. "Other things are much more important now."

Muir and Belby ran up the stairs between them, barely sparing them a glance. Half a second later Julian Frobisher pelted up as well. He saw Daniel, came to a sudden halt and looked from him to Potter and back again. "What's this, then?"

"Not your business," Daniel said with fairly genuine politeness.

"Malfoy'd go off his nut if he saw this," Frobisher commented. "Hi, Potter, nice to see you. I'm late for Charms, and if Damon beats me there I'm down ten sickles. If I lose by the length of this conversation I'm coming after you both for five each." With that said he set off again, shoes squeaking as he ran.

"Why would Malfoy care?" Potter asked. It looked like his mind was still on other things.

So was Daniel's. "I'm not expecting the two of us to become great mates," he said. "I don't really want us to. But I just — he was your godfather and he loved you, and he'd probably want me to help you if I could. So I'm not going to keep our friendship a secret from you. There's no reason it should be. And … I miss him, and nobody else I know knew him. So it's lonely."

"You asked us about rats," Potter said.

Daniel thought about that for a moment and it still didn't make sense. "Huh?"

"Ron and me. In third year. We talked about Scabbers. We tried so hard to work out what you were trying to do once we realised who you were. Then when it all happened we completely forgot the whole thing. I never realised, until right now."

Daniel remembered all his fumbling around "helping" Sirius only too well. Third year had been a huge mess. The only thing he'd really got out of it was Sirius's friendship, and that hadn't really happened properly until the year after, when the shadows of Wormtail and the manhunt and the Dark Lord didn't hang over every conversation they had. Daniel had talked to Sirius more honestly about his life than he ever had anyone since his parents. All the things that had been so important when he was fourteen and Sirius had treated a hundred percent seriously seemed so pathetic now. So pathetic, and so foreign.

"Livingstone?"

Daniel swallowed and stared unseeingly down the stairs. "I just miss him."

Potter swallowed audibly. "Yeah."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The majority of the sixth years came to Defence straight from Transfiguration on a Wednesday. That was why it was an immediate concern that neither Livingstone nor Potter were present at the beginning of class. Longbottom wasn't in his customary seat far to the rear of the classroom but he hadn't qualified for a Transfiguration N.E.W.T. and was late more often than not anyway.

Weasley looked angry, Granger worried.

"Where is Livingstone?" Snape asked the Slytherins.

"He was kicked out of Transfiguration, sir," Bulstrode said promptly. "We haven't seen him since."

"I see."

"Potter followed him out," Malfoy added. "Professor McGonagall forbade anyone from Slytherin from checking on them. She only let Weasley go after Potter but he couldn't find him. Apparently."

Longbottom burst into the room, then, his chest heaving.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said. "Sit down."

Longbottom shuffled up towards Potter's empty seat. Snape decided it would be best to completely ignore him for the day. His nerves could only take so much aggravation. "To my knowledge, there are five cursed objects inside this room," he said. "For one hour you will attempt to determine which objects carry curses, what those curses are and the best method with which to remove the curses. Teamwork and co-operation is expressly forbidden. Anyone who attempts to remove a curse in this first hour will lose twenty points from their house and earn a detention. Proceed."

Longbottom spoke quietly to Weasley and Granger, but not quietly enough to keep Snape from hearing. "I saw Harry, he said to tell you he was okay."

"Where is he?" Weasley hissed.

"He was sitting on west stairs to the third floor." Longbottom's voice dropped even lower. "He was talking to Livingstone. He seemed pretty upset."

Weasley stood so suddenly that Longbottom squeaked and pushed his chair back.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape growled. "Your conversation will cease."

"_They _were talking!" Weasley protested, pointing across the room. Malfoy, Zabini, Greengrass and Bulstrode looked at him, glanced at Snape and then moved to prowl the room separately.

"Were they," Snape said tonelessly. "It appears you were drowning them out."

Weasley growled and stalked away to glare at a bookshelf. Granger looked like she wanted to speak to Longbottom but she decided against it. She flicked quickly through her textbook, scanned a couple of paragraphs and started muttering to herself.

Livingstone and Potter. Snape was hardly surprised that they were in contact with each other; Livingstone missed Black and he no doubt realised that Potter did as well. Over the summer the boy's priorities had shifted profoundly, or so it seemed to Snape. Livingstone had always had a slightly warped perspective, but he had been careful not to display it prominently. He had taken his biological parents' advice to remain inconspicuous to heart, and even after rejecting their authority the habits had lingered. Now, they were dissolved completely.

Perhaps Livingstone would be able to talk some sense into Potter. If they managed to bond over the cur's death, Potter may learn to listen to somebody with sense, instead of the endless Gryffindors braying about heroism and valour. It wasn't likely, but it was possible. It would certainly make Snape's job a little easier.

"Ow!" someone cried from the back of the room. Snape glanced across to see Terry Boot shaking his hand briskly. "It zapped me!"

The students crowded in around him, wands out cautiously. Snape nearly sighed. If any of them dared present the Elektus Charm as a curse he would not be responsible for his actions.


	17. Overt and Covert Decisions

A/N: No, your eyes don't deceive you, this is indeed another chapter of this sadly-neglected story. Even sadder, I can't promise more regular updates than this, though I'd like to do better in the near future. I'll do what I can.

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Daniel didn't go up to the Owlery much. He'd bought Gwion in fourth year so he could write to Sirius without having to use school owls all the time, and so Sirius wouldn't have to find one of his own. It was handy but he wasn't like Draco, who wrote about a letter a day to various family and friends outside school. Gwion usually did as he liked and Daniel was happy to let him pretty much live his own life. Especially now Sirius was gone, there wasn't much point to Daniel having an owl.

"He didn't have much stuff of his own," Potter was saying, running a gentle finger over his own owl's chest. "It's all heirlooms and most of it's pretty vile. Did he ever mention anything to you?"

There was only one thing of Sirius's that would do as a memento as far as Daniel was concerned. He didn't want to ask for it. Sirius had given it to Potter, and Daniel had practically told him to do so. He couldn't very well just ask for it back.

He shook his head. "We didn't really talk about _things_, you know."

"You should have something," Potter said firmly. "He'd want you to."

"It's good of you, Potter, but I don't really need anything of his. I never expected it."

"I don't care," Potter said mulishly. "You saved his life."

"Okay, then," Daniel said before he could decide against it. "I want the mirror."

Potter's hand started to shake but he kept on patting his owl. The blood was slowly draining from his face. "I broke it," he said thickly.

The Owlery spun a little around Daniel and he closed his eyes. "Oh," he said. "Right. Okay."

"Did you use it a lot?"

Potter was crying, or close to it. Daniel didn't want to know about it. "I guess." He wriggled his fingers around, flexing them and clenching them into a fist. He was definitely not equipped to deal with Potter's grief.

The Gryffindor boy cleared his throat huskily. "I never found out if he had his on him. You know, when he went through. I'll ask."

Apart from the rustling of birds and the gentle whistling of wind, the scratching of Potter's quill was the only sound in the room. Daniel tried to remember what the point of his revelation in Transfiguration had been, and he couldn't. He'd been pissed at McGonagall, and it had all just gone ahead without much input from Daniel himself. And now he was on weirdly friendly terms with Potter. Now, they had something immense in common and they both knew it.

Now, there was no chance of keeping the prophesied hopes separate and giving the world the greatest possible chance of getting rid of the Dark Lord. It didn't bother Daniel as much as he thought it should. If the fate of the world was on his or Potter's shoulders, then the world would just have to deal with how that turned out.

Daniel opened his eyes but didn't bother focussing them properly. It wasn't like he'd never seen a bunch of owls before. "Who are you writing to?"

"Remus."

Ugh. Werewolf. "If the mirror's gone, see if they've still got the rabbit-ears hat."

The quill stopped. "What rabbit-ears hat?"

"Just say he mentioned it and you always wanted to see it. I gave it to him, if you must know."

Potter sniffed. "Okay."

"I should really go down soon. Snape wanted to see me after class, and I've got the detention for McGonagall."

"Does Slyth— do your friends know about you and Sirius?"

"A couple. More will soon, I'm guessing."

Potter walked his owl to the window and threw it out. Then he stayed at the window, staring. "So do we leave it at this?"

"I don't know," Daniel said. "I'm sick of thinking things through."

Potter turned to him and grinned a bit. "I know the feeling."

"So we had a chat about Sirius, and now we're going to class," Daniel said. "All there is to it." He looked around the Owlery as they started to move out, checking one last time in case Gwion had turned up.

"I don't know what I'm going to say to Ron," Potter said. "He really hates you."

"You don't have to say anything —"

At the doorway Potter nearly walked into Paul Quirke, who cringed back into the wall and avoided his gaze. He was holding a roll of parchment and a bag of owl treats. "Sorry," Potter said. "Didn't see you."

"Hey Quirke," Daniel said. "What if I'd been Draco?"

Quirke scowled. "He's in class, and _you_ can't take points."

"I'm meant to be in class too," Daniel pointed out. "It's not like they lock us in. I'm just trying to help."

"Help by getting out of the way," Quirke said, pushing past. "I have to send this, I promised Pauline she'd get it by Thursday."

Daniel felt a bit guilty about that. He'd heard about the Dabbet girls, but didn't really know anyone close to them particularly well. He could imagine how he'd be feeling if, say, Daphne and Astoria had to leave for reasons like that. "Sorry," he called back as he and Potter started down the stairs. He wanted to say something else, something a bit more genuinely sympathetic, but there was nothing really to say. So he swallowed thickly and kept walking.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

When there was only five minutes of the hour remaining Malfoy and Bulstrode exchanged a glance. Malfoy went to Zabini, Bulstrode went to Greengrass and they spread themselves out around the room again, removing all the curses they'd surreptitiously placed in the first few minutes. Of the other students, only Bones and Corner seemed to notice what they were doing and both were too shrewd to make any comment.

As the hour drew to a close some students grew more frantic and others wilted. At precisely six o'clock Snape got to his feet. The students returned to their seats. Then the door opened and Livingstone sidled in looking somewhat abashed. Potter was close behind him.

"I look forward to your explanations once this class is over," Snape said. "Sit."

The two boys exchanged a look. Potter moved forwards to join his housemates. Livingstone squeezed in between Boot and Corner, studiously not paying attention to any of his own housemates.

"Miss Turpin," Snape invited.

"The candle up on the shelf there will burn anyone who lights it without using magic," Turpin said confidently. "The burn is invisible, can only be healed with magic and will spread for a week after being sustained. Any healing charm will get rid of the burn, but the curse can't be removed from the candle without destroying it completely. I don't think it's Flagrante but I didn't recognise it."

"A fair effort. Ten points to Ravenclaw," Snape said. He'd expected no less from Turpin. "Miss Bulstrode?"

Bulstrode sniffed. "The stool by the back left bench. Cogos Vehemens, or something much like it. Scindevires ought to solve the immediate problem, then Simplice Pleno on the stool. "

Snape nodded. "Fifteen points to Slytherin. Excellent attention to detail."

Granger flung her hand into the air. Snape was surprised she'd managed to wait so long. "Mr. McMillan."

"I found a Gemino Curse on one of the jars, sir," McMillan said. "Gemino is best removed by Demidio."

"That is not one of the cursed objects," Snape said. "Any more?"

Greengrass was smiling and Zabini looked smug. "Sir," McMillan protested. "I found the curse."

Snape would have got up to investigate himself but it wasn't worth his waning energy. "Find it again."

McMillan shoved his chair back and marched to the side of the room. He waved his wand a couple of times then turned bright pink. "Sorry," he growled. "My mistake."

Malfoy snickered.

Snape continued to ignore Granger's raised hand. "Mr. Finnigan."

"I found the Gemino too, sir."

"I know one of the cursed objects in the room, sir," Zabini said. "You."

Snape waited through the sudden, heavy silence.

"Well, our dear friend Lord You-Know-Who cursed the Defence Against the Dark Arts post," Zabini said sensibly. "I assume that's passed on to you, sir."

Snape very nearly smiled. "How best would such a curse be removed?"

Zabini leaned back in his chair, the movement indolent. "No idea, sir. You could get yourself fired, I suppose."

"Potter's a cursed object too," Malfoy added. "That makes four out of five."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Weasley spat.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley."

Susan Bones raised her hand and, a moment later, so did Padma Patil and Terry Boot. "Miss Bones."

"The book open on your desk is cursed, sir."

That caught Snape's attention. A few students had made cursory examinations of his desk, from a distance of course, but he hadn't thought any of them had picked up any details.

"There were a lot of layers, but I think it was some kind of combination of a Jelly-Fingers curse and a Leg-Locker curse. I would need more time to work out the components of the curse before I could say how to get rid of it. Neither standard fix will work but I don't think it's likely to be anything except a combination of the two of them."

"Five points to Hufflepuff," Snape said, impressed despite himself. He'd placed six-deep illusory layers on the book and she had made it down to the second-last one without him noticing.

"I think the curses Susan found are fake, sir," Granger said.

"Five points for speaking out of turn," Snape said. "You will all write a brief account of your efforts at the previous task and evaluate your successes and failures, to be handed in at the end of the class. No talking."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"You both have detention with me on Friday night," Snape said. "Potter, you are dismissed."

Potter shifted sideways a little. "Sir, I have Quidditch training on Friday night. Could — could I do it at some other time?"

Snape shot him a look of pure murder. Funny, how he could talk about Potter with complete neutrality to Daniel but as soon as the Gryffindor boy was in the room he was loathing incarnate. It couldn't all just be about keeping up appearances, surely. Maybe it was Potter's stupid face.

Whatever it was, it was pretty unreasonable. "Draco's organised a study session for the kids on Friday, too," Daniel said. "I said I'd help him out."

"In that case, you will both assist me in class on Tuesday from five o'clock and remain afterwards for detention. This is not negotiable."

Potter's next words seemed to stick in his throat.

"Thank you, sir," Daniel said. "Can we go now?"

"Not you," Snape said.

Potter backed up and quickly left the room. Daniel sighed and pulled a chair up in front of the desk. "I shouldn't have been such a shit to McGonagall," he said. "But she gets on my nerves."

"What did you do?"

"Oh, I accused her of bias and used a story Sirius told me to back it up," Daniel said. "I have detention with her in an hour or so. Oh, and she knows I know about the Order, I kind of mentioned it when I was looking for you before."

Snape nodded to himself. Maybe he was still too tired to be angry.

"So where were you?" Daniel said, when Snape apparently had nothing to say for himself.

"I will say this once, and no more."

Daniel looked into the black eyes, ready to occlude but not expecting to have to. Snape wasn't quite himself.

"You do not report to me," Snape said after a moment's consideration. "Nor I to you. You are not obliged to share with me any of your actions or intentions."

"And vice versa?" He could see where this was going. Snape wasn't going to let him in on Death Eater secrets, and he didn't want to be buried under all Daniel's own stuff. Which was all very well, but Daniel was nowhere near being able to do anything without a huge amount of help. If this was a brush-off, it might as well have been a kick in the guts.

"My position is increasingly precarious," Snape said. "And it is my own."

Daniel had to get _something_ out of Snape. Who else did he have? "Did you find out anything about Horcruxes?"

"You will no longer be using that word," Snape snapped. "Not to me or to anybody."

"So I don't report to you but you still get to tell me what to do?"

"I will teach you the skills you will need. That will not prevent me from being your Head of House and your professor."

"Fiendfyre?"

Snape nodded. "If necessary."

Perfect. "Anything I'll be doing in return?"

Snape's expression darkened. "You do not need to buy my assistance, Livingstone. This is not a marketplace. Continue to look out for Draco Malfoy. Try to talk some sense into Potter. That is all."

And then, the bit Daniel wasn't looking forward to. "What about Blaise?"

Snape gave him a long, thoughtful look.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

If Snape slept again before he took action logic might reassert itself before he ever did. He was done with potions, too. It would be firewhiskey tonight.

He had always accepted that his death was just around the corner. The moment he had turned against the Dark Lord he had given up hope for a life of his own. It had seemed the least he could do to protect Lily's son. Now the sacrifice seemed somehow disproportionate. Lily's memory was important still, in its own way, but not at the expense of all else.

He tried to rub the headache out of his brow. Who would he contact first? There were many names to consider, but the first would be the most influential. It came down to who would help him form his ideas and thoughts for the future, and who would be easiest to contact. Whose Floo did he have access to?

He tossed in a small handful of powder. "The Shelf." The connection opened and Snape knelt to put his head in the fire.

The reaction was almost immediate. "Is that … Snape! Well! There's a surprise."

Snape hadn't seen Karen White for a number of years. She hadn't changed. "May I come through?" he asked.

"Wait there a moment."

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Daniel should have known something like this would happen. McGonagall wouldn't be worried about a report to _Dumbledore_ about bias in a class. He could only imagine how many students from other houses had complained to Dumbledore about Snape, and nothing had happened there. So what was he going to do to McGonagall, who he actually liked?

It wasn't like he didn't have enough examples of her bias. She'd suggested he include at least five and he could think of that many in seconds. The problem was in writing it all out at such short notice. He usually had to write essays three or four times to make them sound right and that was when he perfectly understood what he was saying. Writing from the heart just wasn't a thing for Daniel. And hell, did McGonagall know it.

But if that was how she thought he should spend his detention, that's how he'd have to spend it. That was the point of a detention, after all.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"You look a wreck."

Snape regarded Karen evenly. She looked remarkably well: her pale golden hair was braided behind her head, the laugh-lines around her mouth had deepened and the old gentle glow still warmed her eyes. "Thank you," he said.

She offered him a warm cup of tea and gestured for him to sit in a chair by the fire. Snape eased himself down, too weary to put much effort into concealing his weakness. He'd made his choice, and if she turned out a poor choice then he would suffer the consequences.

Karen watched him thoughtfully. Once he was settled she shook her head. "I won't be joining the Order, Snape, so if that's what you're after I'll take my tea back."

Snape took a sip. Too much sugar, but any sugar was too much when it came to tea. "That is categorically not why I am here."

She cocked her head to the side. "I'm not joining You-Know-Who either."

Snape nodded. "I know."

Karen sat in the chair opposite him. "Then what can I do for you?"

In for a penny, in for a fortune. "I doubt many will be left standing," he said. "At the end."

White made an ambivalent gesture. "A reasonable assumption."

"None of us are players on the great stage," Snape said. The liquor was loosening his tongue as he had hoped. He just hoped it wouldn't loosen too far. "Not you and not I. Not Fitzpatrick, nor Oswalt, nor Ashbury."

"Not you? I'm not blind, Snape."

Snape regarded her steadily. "You at least had the wisdom to be neither a player nor one of those played."

Karen smiled. "Go on. I'll have to report this visit to Robards, you understand."

Snape refrained from rolling his eyes, barely. With the promotion of Rufus Scrimgeour to Minister, his favourite yes-man had been promoted to head the Auror Office. There were dozens of more competent witches and wizards than Gawain Robards and Karen White was definitely one of them. "It occurs to me that there are few plans set in place for what many would consider the most favourable outcome of this war," Snape said. "Doubtless the mighty have their plans and expectations."

"But those plans are directly in opposition to those of the other," White said.

"They are."

They sat in silence then. Something momentous had happened not between them, but in Snape's own consciousness. He had reached beyond the binary. He had long since accepted that for one of his teams to succeed, the other must fail, and that if one team should fail, the other would likely succeed. Snape had prepared himself for either eventuality and was coming to yearn for one of them to come to pass. Until tonight he had never seriously allowed himself to wish for disaster on bothsides. And here he was, broaching the idea of such a contingency with a Ministry Hit Witch and frankly enjoying himself doing it.

Snape realised his lips were turning up and abruptly turned them down again.

"I've had similar thoughts myself," White said. "I daresay you expected that — why else would you be here? Devilishly tricky to sort such things out without becoming anybody's enemy. We hardly need another faction in this mess."

Snape nodded. "Devilishly tricky," he echoed.

"I need some kind of assurance that you're in earnest, Snape. I won't be played for a fool, nor dragged into a mess I don't need."

"That is why I am here," Snape agreed. "To give you just such an assurance."

"So what can you give me?"

"I will only give you this information on your word that you will not act upon it," Snape said. "Once its truth is verified it will be as if you never heard of it. Any action on your part could be ruinous."

White nodded slowly. "We'll see," she said. "If you give me something strong, and it checks out, I'll need to be convinced the next step is more worthwhile than using that information immediately."

"It will be."

"Shoot."

"What do you know of Mark Ventas?"

Karen pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Ravenclaw boy," she said. "He was a prefect, if I'm remembering rightly. Very bright. Out of Hogwarts a couple of years now, but he's taken leave from the Ministry for his health. Word through the departments is that he was gunning for the Reversal Squad."

Snape stepped off the precipice smoothly and without hesitation. "He has entered the Dark Lord's service."

Karen's wand hand clenched and her jaw tightened. "Why?"

"He was promised medical assistance," Snape said dryly. "He is not well and his judgement suffers."

"What's wrong with him?"

Snape shrugged slowly. "I cannot spare the time to look into the matter. He is of little significance to anybody of consequence, and people of consequence are of great significance to me."

"And it is vital to your plans that he remain as he is?"

"No. It is vital to my survival that my discovery of his situation is not immediately followed by Ministry interference."

"Not immediately," Karen said.

Snape took another sip of his tea. It was a great shame that the smartest witches and wizards stayed reasonably removed from the field of conflict. Even one Karen White in the Order of the Phoenix could shift the balance significantly.

It was a tempting idea, for Snape to carve out his own faction, comprising entirely of the rational, the competent and the independent.

"I can have very little direct interest in anything you might consider necessary," he said. "I am rather busy."

"I'll confirm your information," Karen said. "Will you be approaching others?"

"Perhaps," Snape said. He got to his feet. If he waited much longer to leave he didn't know if he'd have the strength to.

"If you do, try Lazarus. Do you have Floo powder for your return?"

"No, my new survival strategy is to think only one step ahead of my actions at any time, and to be unprepared for any situation that may eventuate in order to disconcert my enemies."

Karen laughed. "There's the Snape I remember."

"The Snape you remember would hardly consider approaching a melodramatic, sentimental Gryffindor Hit Wizard for assistance with his devious plotting," Snape replied.

"Oh come, Lazarus isn't so bad," Karen said. "He's mellowed over the years."

"One would hope so." Snape took out his Floo powder and stepped nearer the fire.

"It's the last thing anyone would expect from you," Karen goaded him. "You might be surprised at how much help he can be."

Snape turned around to face her completely. "Very little of this is for my own sake, White. You will achieve very little in appealing to my ego to make a point. I have far more pressing concerns."

"I will think about what you said and look into what you told me," she said, falling back into business. "I won't make any promises."

"Good," Snape said, and left.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

When the two hours were almost up McGonagall came over to Daniel and started to read over his shoulder. Feeling stupidly defensive, Daniel hunched himself over the parchment.

He felt her back off a little. "Do you truly feel hard done by, Mr. Livingstone?"

"You think I get myself thrown into detentions because I have nothing better to do?"

"You have made little effort to indicate otherwise."

Daniel turned around in his seat. "Look, can I just finish this and go? I have things to do and people to see."

McGonagall had her arms folded and was peering at him appraisingly. Daniel was used to that kind of look from Snape, but from McGonagall it made him feel slightly sick. He turned back around and glared at his parchment.

"Very well," McGonagall said. Her shoes clacked as she walked back to the front of the room.

And if Daniel had been a Gryffindor, she wouldn't have let it go like that. She'd have made an effort to sort out what was going on and what could be done about it. According to Jacqui Savant she'd gone out of her way to help Hilda Rye last year with some personal stuff, and Rye wasn't a Gryffindor any more than Daniel was. McGonagall just didn't care about anybody in Slytherin, and that was the way things were. Daniel finished his pointless report and left without looking up.

Blaise was waiting for him just outside the door with his hands in his pockets and his eyes half-closed. Daniel very nearly turned straight back around to McGonagall.

"I'm sorry that I had to do what I did," Blaise said. Daniel automatically looked around for Daphne. Blaise made a smile that looked like it cost him something, then said, "She's not here."

"If she was you'd probably have managed a better apology," Daniel said coldly. "I assume someone told you to apologise. If not Daphne, then who?"

"Muir," Blaise said sourly. "He's talking to Daphne now. Adamson thinks he's going to go to Dumbledore with it."

"That'd suit you right down to the ground, wouldn't it?" Daniel said. "Dumbledore won't do shit."

"Nobody's going to do anything about it," Blaise said loftily. "I don't take stupid risks, unlike some."

Daniel didn't know how Blaise could be so certain and so convincing about something so ridiculous. "You should at least be expelled," Daniel said. "You do remember they're called _unforgivable_, don't you?"

"So don't forgive me."

"I'm going to see you expelled," Daniel told him. "I'm going to demand it from Muir, Frobisher, Adamson and Chalmers, I'm going to request it of Snape, I'm going to expect it from Dumbledore and from McGonagall. You should have your fucking wand broken, and don't think that because I'm not screaming and cursing you I'm not going to do everything I can to make sure it is."

"That's a pity, for your sake," Blaise said. "It won't come to anything and I hate to see you wasting your energy on something so fruitless."

"I hate to see you at all," Daniel said. "Fuck off."

"I'll walk you back to Slytherin."

"Walk yourself back," Daniel said. "I'm going to be seeing enough of you as it is."

"Adamson wants to talk to you," Blaise said. "Surely you want to start your campaign as soon as possible. You have so many people to talk to, after all."

Daniel worked to keep his eyes from darting around them, hoping for someone else to walk by. Blaise was difficult to read at the best of times, and now Daniel knew what lengths he went to and how he apparently feared nothing and nobody in the school … well, a chummy walk back to Slytherin together was not even slightly on the cards.

He stuck a hand in his pocket and felt around a bit. "Oh, I left my wand back in detention," he said. "Bloody McGonagall. It's not like I know an essay-writing charm anyway."

He turned around, holding his breath, and went back into the classroom before Blaise could speak, closing the door firmly behind him. McGonagall was sitting at her desk frowning into the distance. She glanced across at him and the frown deepened. "Yes?" she said tartly.

Daniel breathed in and out a couple of times. McGonagall was Deputy Headmistress and it wasn't like he was asking her to side against a Gryffindor. Blaise knew how to brown-nose with the best of them, but there was a chance McGonagall liked Daniel better than him.

And anyway. She wouldn't just brush over an Unforgivable. The worst that could come of it was that she would think Daniel was weak for being afraid of a housemate in his own year. Pride was one thing, and self-preservation was quite another.

"Blaise Zabini cast the Imperius curse on me on Tuesday," he said. "And now he's stalking me. He's outside right now demanding that I go with him to Slytherin." He grimaced. "And I truly feel safer coming in here and telling you this than being alone with him."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

No sooner had Snape stepped out of the fireplace and swept his office for traces of any hostile magic than his fire flared green and McGonagall's head appeared in it.

It wouldn't be wise or mature to run away from her but he dearly wished he could. McGonagall would only call on him this personally if there was an immediate crisis.

"Professor Snape, will you please step through?"

"In a moment," Snape said. He sagged down into a chair the moment she withdrew. It was only Wednesday, for heaven's sake. He could feel his mind slowly fraying as his limbs grew heavy and unresponsive.

He was _tired._


End file.
